


The Photographer

by Sugar_n_Spyce32



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Author’s fetish clearly on display, BDSM, Bathing/Washing, Blackmail, Bondage, Boudoir, Butt Plugs, Canon-Typical Violence, Collars, Dubious Consent, Enemas, Gags, Gangbang, Humiliation, Masochism, Masturbation, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, POV First Person, PWP, Pet Play, Photography, Piss, Piss Play, Polyamory, Power Exchange, Puppy Play, Rope Bondage, Sadism, Safewords, Shibari, Slow Burn, Soapstick, Spanking, Teasing, Threesome, Vaginal Sex, Watersports, Workplace Dynamics, dubcon, everyone's a switch, mouthsoaping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 60,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sugar_n_Spyce32/pseuds/Sugar_n_Spyce32
Summary: An alarm clock is a damn cliche way to start a story, but it’s how all my day-to-day stories seem to start. Seems fitting - I suppose it’s well-used for a reason, and, well, I’m not a storyteller.Well, technically I guess I am. I’m a photographer. But I tell stories with pictures, not words.Fuck, okay, I’m rambling again. Let’s try that one more time, from the top.
Relationships: Polyturks - Relationship, Polyturks/Rufus Shinra, Rufus Shinra/OC, Turks/OC (yes all of them)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I struggled with whether or not I wanted to post this fic the entire time I was writing it. Let me make this clear - I don’t usually read OC fics. So I see the irony in me posting one of my own. This fic is huge (gunning for 150k words by the end), very slow burn, and super self-indulgent. Not to mention the fact that it’s written present-tense and first person. So why did I even post it?
> 
> I posted this for myself. It’s the longest complete work I’ve ever written, and I’m pretty proud of that fact. It was an exercise in different types of writing, and I felt like it was a successful experiment. I feel like posting it cements it as official in my mind - something that I truly, truly made.
> 
> Honestly, I don’t really expect anyone to read this. Even these notes are more a reminder to myself. It’s okay to do things for you.
> 
> If you are here, and you really do want to read this, I appreciate you a ton. I hope you like what I have to offer this time around. Enjoy the ride.
> 
> (This fic is based loosely on a few of the other fics I've written. It reads perfectly well as a standalone work.)
> 
> Edit: This fic is now updating every Saturday - subscribe to it (or to me) to get notified when new chapters are posted!
> 
> Edit: As this fic gets longer, I have now gone through and tagged each chapter that contains kink and smut with the appropriate tags in the beginning chapter notes. If there are no tags listed, there's no kink or smut present.

When the alarm clock radio comes to life, the day seems completely ordinary. The weather outside is pretty nice for a day in Midgar, and Sector 8 is already buzzing by the time I manage to roll myself out of bed. 

“Bed” is a bit of a stretch in and of itself - the old mattress on the floor is curved to my form now, dotted with stains from my habit of eating my meals there. The smell of the room indicates that my sheets could use a wash, but it’s such a pain to drag them to the laundromat… Maybe it can hold off until next week.

I, however, cannot go without a wash any longer. The shower is always the first stop, and the fact that my building never seems to have any hot water makes for a great wake-up call. The blue dye in my hair colors the water as it makes its way down the drain. I make it quick, reveling in the warmth on the towel that lingers from where it had been sitting in the sun near the window. 

Mornings are always so blurry. I grab my oval wire-frame glasses and toss on my clothes, making sure that my tie is snug against my collar before grabbing my bag and pulling on my shoes. According to the wall calendar, today marks the ninth Monday of my internship. Three left to go. I try not to think about what will happen then… In the best-case scenario, I’d get hired, but the chance of that happening right now is slim to none. 

One day at a time, Lane. You’re gonna kick this one’s ass. 

Most Midgarians will bitch about their commute, but I rather enjoy mine. I live on the outer edge of the Sector 8 plate, about as slummy as you can get on the upper plates. It’s a picnic compared to what’s below, but it’s still about the cheapest housing there is up here. Someday, when I have a good job, I’ll move closer to Sector 0. But, then, I’d lose out on this wonderful morning train ride. The city isn’t the prettiest thing to look at, but the white noise makes for such a lovely setting for fantasies of all kinds. Today, I can’t help but dream of what my future house might be like… Little details come to mind, like tall glass windows, carpeted staircases, and separate sinks for the kitchen and bathroom. 

Little luxuries, I tell ya. 

Eventually, the train pulls to a stop, and it’s time to fight the crowd as we all make our ways toward the shining beacon in the middle of the city - the Shinra building, smack dab in the center of Midgar. For several years now, I’ve dreamed of working here, and now I’m living that dream.

Almost. Still just an internship… But at least it’s a paid gig.

The administrative wing is where I call home, down on one of the lower levels of the building. I work in a subsection of the PR department, doing internal communications as a part of the photography team. Not that I’m doing very much photography. It’s mostly just photo editing and graphic design, though I’ve had the chance to sit in on a few important shoots, and sometimes they toss a camera at me when they need a big event covered. I’m grateful for every second of it, honestly - photography is my passion, and getting to do it as a career is my dream job. And nothing says success like a Shinra badge. 

“Morning, Elliott,” a gentleman from PR waves at me, addressing me by the last name on my lanyard. We almost always get in the elevator at the same time, so we exchange these acquainting pleasantries like clockwork.

“Morning, Peters,” I smile in return. The rest of the ride is silent, but it’s short, so it isn’t too awkward. We trade grins and nods before we take our different directions down the hallway - me heading toward the photography and video studios, and him heading toward the PR bullpen.

My department supervisor, Marjorie, brews coffee and brings up breakfast from the employee cafe each morning. It’s super kind of her, and I’ve made a habit of letting her take care of my morning meal. She sometimes stands there when she needs to catch someone on arrival, waiting and busying herself with the buffet arrangements until her target in question makes an appearance. Today, it seems that her target is me.

“Lane!” she chirps brightly, stepping aside to let me get at the caffeine.

“Morning Marjorie, what’s up?” I give her my ears while I pick out how I’ll fuel up today.

“Well, you might wanna grab a second cup right away, kiddo,” she says, squirming nervously, “Because... Jenny’s out sick today.”

“Hm?” I give her a questioning look as I sip. Jenny is my direct supervisor, but why would that mean a second cup of coffee? She’s been absent before and I’ve pulled through fine. The only thing on my schedule today was headshot editing and doing some scheduling stuff - nothing drastic.

“And Frank is on vacation?” Marjorie looks at me expectantly, like I should have gotten it by now. I wrack my brain, trying to figure out what I’m missing. Coming up short, I give her a confused look and shrug slightly. Marjorie sighs.

“Jenny was scheduled to do the Vice President’s headshot today, Lane. But she’s absent, and so is the backup photographer. You’re the only one left on staff today.”

I choke on my coffee.

“I really need you to step up and take over,” she says, “Do you think you can do that?”

Pass up an opportunity for a photo shoot? Not me.

“You can count on me!”

“Lane Elliott, you are a lifesaver!” Marjorie smiles wide as she bounds back toward her desk, “He’ll be in the studio at 11 sharp. I’ll be there to assist you, so I’ll see you at 10:30 for setup!”

I bite into a dry bagel, trying to keep myself from reeling. Okay, think about this. It’s just a headshot session - for the annual reports, I’m sure. Nothing new or difficult - something the VP and Marjorie have both done before. I just need to follow their leads.

Though somewhat shaken, I still close my eyes and take a deep breath. If there’s one thing I can do well, it’s take photos. One-on-one shoots are my specialty, in a sense, and I know that I can do this. I psych myself up - I will knock this out of the park! 

Just gotta breathe and finish this bagel. And maybe a second cup of coffee.


	2. Chapter 2

11 o’ clock comes around way too slowly, but it does eventually come. Marjorie and I get the lights set up and the tripod arranged. I double-check that we’ve got a spare SD card and that the seat for the VP is locked in position so it won’t dump him off when he sits (as it is wont to do).

I am ready for him when the door opens.

Marjorie greets him and offers to take his coat - or whatever that belt-covered thing is - but he holds up a hand, silently declining without taking his eyes off his phone. A tall, dark-haired bodyguard follows him in, positioning himself in the corner and observing us in silence. His immaculate black suit puts him at stark contrast to the Vice President.

Photographing powerful people is all about balance. This is easy enough today, I know. It’s just a headshot. If he wants more than that, well… He can have all he wants.

But I still need the headshot first.

“Okay Sir, whenever you’re ready, if you’ll please take a seat…” I normally sound more confident than this, but the atmosphere in here is so damn unnerving that I’m just flat-out shaken. 

The Vice President glances upward, casting his icy eyes in my direction. The corner of his lip turns up just slightly, and he slowly saunters toward the chair. With that flamboyant coat on, he almost appears to be floating. I wonder briefly if that’s the exact reason that he chose it.

“Wonderful, thank you,” I say, “Let’s swivel to about a forty-five degree angle, body facing that way…” I point. The rhythm of the shoot starts to fall into place now as I position myself behind the camera, bent over to look through the sight and adjust the tripod. Damn, this guy is so tall, I have to adjust my height.

The Vice President is silent as he obeys. It’s obvious that he’s done this a million times before. He knows exactly what angle to face his chest, but keeps his chin toward me. It’s raised just the right amount. His face is stoic and almost expressionless, though he appears to have a real case of resting bitch face. That’s a great thought to take to the grave and never share with anyone ever.

“Alright, that’s perfect, perfect… Here we go, three two one-” I snap the shutter, and the lights flash brightly, illuminating him. The preview photo is washed out - he’s wearing a lot of white, and that combined with his pale skin and hair is overexposing things a little. White balance is all off.

“Hold on…” I say, fiddling with the settings and the aperture. I might end up having to pull one of the lights at this rate. I get my eyes back up to the sight and line up the shot again. He hasn’t moved a muscle - I wonder if he even blinked.

“Okay, three two one-”  _ Snap _ . Oh, that’s much better - in fact, it could be the one. A few more now, just to have options. I repeat the countdown and the flashing a few more times, then switch it up.

“Do we want to try any smiling?” I offer. From what I’d seen of Jenny’s work, she was getting both from all the other execs. Even the President had smiled for a couple shots.

“No.”

I don’t need to be told twice, but the answer is still a little disheartening. Not my place to force it, obviously. I just hope that Jenny isn’t mad about that later on - not my fault, after all. 

“Cool,” is all I can respond with. I lean back down - a few more neutral ones, then. I grab two more shots, then stand up straight again.

“Okay, I think that’s-” Marjorie starts. She has her mouth opened before I do, but in the awkward fashion that always seems to become me, I process that fact too late and interrupt her unintentionally.

“Is there anything else you wanna try today?”

It’s not something they ever taught in my photography classes, but it’s the one tip I would give every photographer out there - never end a session on a pose you picked. Give the model the space to get creative, even if it goes against every rule. Ninety-eight percent of the time, those shots are the best ones. I apply this philosophy to every single session I do - even something as menial as this. 

The room is silent for a few beats, and I feel anxiety creep up inside me. Had I stepped over the line? What was going on?

The bodyguard in the corner raises an eyebrow at me. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, I definitely did something  _ weird _ , at the very least.

But the Vice President’s face is something totally different. 

He’s smiling at me.

“Why not?” is all he says, throwing his hand up and chuckling. He turns to the bodyguard and beckons him.

“Come here, Tseng,” he purrs, “Stand behind me. I’ve been meaning to get a proper picture of us together for some time now.”

I fight to keep my expression neutral. That statement has some serious implications - why would the VP want a picture with his bodyguard? For the first time, it occurs to me that the black-haired guy might not even be his bodyguard at all - what if the two of them are romantically involved? I realize that I might be privy to some very sensitive information here, but there’s no way for me to know without outright asking. And even I know better than to try that.

The suited man - Tseng, I guess? - looks fairly taken aback. For a second, I feel like he’s going to protest, but he picks up his feet and steps over to the VP’s side. He looks up at me, his eyes as wide as I’ve yet seen them, looking for direction.

“Uh… Stand behind him there, yeah… take a half-step to your right- Yep, right there. Okay, turn your body toward him, and… uh…”

Shit, what do I tell him to do with his hands? Putting them on the VP’s shoulder would be most natural, but… What kind of relationship are they even maintaining? I can’t give that as a direction until I know the answer - and I really shouldn’t find out.

“You could fold your hands behind your back?” I offer.

Tseng follows the instruction exactly. His chest puffs out and he stands tall, looking somber and businesslike. 

“Okay, Mr. Vice President - you can turn toward him and fa-”

“No, no,” The VP waves his hand dismissively, promptly shutting me up, “Here, Tseng,” He grabs at the bodyguard’s arm and lays it on his shoulder, creating the exact pose that I’d been envisioning, but too scared to suggest. I can feel thick tension in the air - there’s definitely something more than professional between these two.

Still isn’t any of my business.

“Y-Yeah, perfect, just like that… Uh, Tseng, right? Turn your body into him a little more… Yeah, that’s it,” I adjust the camera height again, backing the tripod up considerably so I can get them both well within the frame. I stumble over the light bags on the floor, nearly tripping backwards. Marjorie gasps and reaches to catch the camera, but I manage to stay up.

Fucking hell, that was embarrassing. Shake it off, shake it off…

I regain my composure and set the tripod down, making sure that the camera is aimed straight on. Looking through the sight, I can see it - the perfect shot, almost. Just a few little adjustments.

“Tseng, fold your hands over, one on top of the other - yeah,” Everything seems great - only one thing left. To my surprise, the VP is smiling now, a soft-faced look, but Tseng is still stone-faced.

“Are… Are we smiling or straight-faced?” I grin as I peer around the camera with the question. Trying to be friendly always helps - I really do want them to smile, anyway. 

Rufus Shinra tilts his chin upward and grins at his picture partner. He looks a little bit like a teenage girl, gazing dreamily at her boyfriend - it’s cute, and jarringly out-of-character against his public image.

“C’mon, smile,” he jeers. Tseng glances downward at him. The corners of his lips turn up just a little, and eventually it gives way to a soft smile. In unison, they look back at the lens. I’m ready for them - looking through the sight, the shot is right on target. I smile back.

“Perfect - three two one!” The shutter clicks again and the lights glint. In patterned timing, I continue to shoot, one after another after another, making certain that I’ve got a dream shot for them. After about nine clicks, I know I’ve gotten it.

“Beautiful, beautiful,” I gush, “Anything else today, Sirs?”

The VP smiles at me almost warmly.

“Well, if I’d known that you were willing to take more than just my headshot, I’d have brought D with me,” he said, “You’re the substitute for the usual portraitist today, correct?”

“Uh, y-yes, Sir,” I stutter as I watch him stand, unfolding to his full six-foot-plus form. 

“Would you be willing to let me see the photos?” he asks, approaching me slowly.

“Oh, of course! Just, uh… Keep in mind that they’re all raw. I’ll be editing them later - n-nothing big, just minor lighting fixes and such…” I’m starting to ramble - Just shut up, Lane. I open the gallery and twist the camera toward him. He leans down and peers into the screen, keeping the soft smile on his lips as he flips through the shots. He seems very pleased with them, and I stand tall, giving him space to take his time. I glance at Marjorie, who is just watching with wide eyes.

“What’s your name?” he asks, eyes still trained on the camera.

“I, uh… My name is Lane Elliott, Sir.”

“Are you new to Shinra, Lane?”

“Y-Yes, Sir - I’m an intern. I’ve been here for two months.”

“You’re very talented,” he says. I swear my heart stops - the Vice President just complimented me, outright and genuinely, “How long have you been a photographer?”

“I’ve been taking pictures since I was a kid. Probably, like… ten years?” I ballpark, “And, uh, thank you, Sir.”

He stands back up, turning toward the door. He looks ready to go, and I step back again to give him the space to exit.

“Lane Elliott… I’ll have to remember that,” he says, as if to himself, “I’d very much like to see you again, next time I want some photos taken,” With that, he beckons silently to Tseng and the two of them sweep out the door, looking almost ethereal as they move in a singular unit. Tseng turns back to shut the door behind him, locking eyes with me for a split second before the door clicks and everything is silent.


	3. Chapter 3

“I can’t believe that just happened,” I balk.

Marjorie exhales dramatically. Both of us feel about forty pounds of tension lift off our shoulders as the footsteps through the studio offices grow to silence. As we recover, we move to start taking down the lights and returning the studio to its usual state.

“I can’t believe he actually stayed,” Marjorie says with a sigh.

“Huh?”

“The VP is known for being a bit… touchy about his photo shoots,” Marjorie reveals, “I can’t believe you got him to not only cooperate, but actually  _ smile _ for once.”

I feel the hairs on my neck prickle.

“You didn’t think to tell me that  _ before _ throwing me to the wolves?” I ask, giving Marjorie a hurt look.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” she admits quietly.

“...I really prefer the truth, if I can get it,” I mumble. I don’t want to step on toes and get fired or written up right now - especially after such a stellar show with the VP - so I try to keep my offense at bay. 

Marjorie doesn’t say anything for a moment, then turns to me after putting down a light stand.

“Well… In the spirit of honesty,” she says slowly, “You might not be out of the woods yet. Offering him some extra time was very kind of you, Lane, but the VP’s schedule is tight - down to the minute. We… went a little overtime. And trust me when I tell you that the VP is  _ never _ happy when his schedule is messed with.”

...Well, shit. That’s awful news. So much for a successful shoot - talent won’t matter in the face of inconvenience for someone like him, I’m sure. It crosses my mind that this might’ve been a career-ending fuck-up.

Marjorie must be reading the look on my face, because she steps over and puts her hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, try not to worry about it too much. Worst you might get is a scathing email,” she assures me.

I nod, trying to commit that sentiment to heart. The adrenaline still coursing through me makes that hard, and I decide to focus instead on not dropping the equipment as I pack things back up.

The remainder of the day is as boringly routine as my days always are - lunch in the employee cafe, followed by an afternoon of editing the photos I took. The VP’s headshots are striking - the lights did wonders for his ice blue eyes. And the white was standout against the red and gray background, emblazoned with the company logo. He looks regal and serious - almost deadly, in a way I can’t quite explain.

The pictures he took with his bodyguard are entirely different. He looks so happy and content, as if he’s truly comfortable (which is something every photographer strives for). The corners of his eyes are crinkled with a genuine smile, and I can see a hint of dimple on his cheeks. His eyebrows angle slightly downward naturally, but in these photos he doesn’t look quite so angry as he did before. The face of the bodyguard is still mostly hardened - I’m sure it’s a carefully practiced expression, designed to intimidate. It gets the job done, for sure, but the smile on his lips has a softness to it that’s entirely endearing. It reads on his face that he was doing it just to humor the VP, but somehow that makes it just that much more sweet. 

Out of curiosity, I decide to crop one of the smiling shots to just the VP, and I edit out the bodyguard. Now I have what Jenny would’ve wanted - a proper shot of Rufus Shinra smiling, to contrast nicely with the serious shots. Despite feeling like it was needed, however, looking at it just… Doesn’t feel right. I can’t tell if the photo looks a little unsettling, if my edit job was bad, or if I just feel vaguely guilty about it. 

You know what? If that happened to be the picture that got selected for publishing, Rufus Shinra would probably have my head on a stake. Or at the very least come personally rip my badge off.

I delete the photo, and edit the rest of them sparingly, as promised.


	4. Chapter 4

My nights are all the same - get on the train, walk home from the station, eat cup noodles for dinner, and go to sleep. It isn’t until the weekend when I’ll get a chance to live a little, and I fill the empty time by doing the dishes and watching a nature documentary - my favorite. Today, I learn about the creatures of the oceans. It’s simultaneously terrifying and fascinating, not unlike the men I photographed today. 

Tuesday rolls around in the same blah blur as always, nothing special. An introspective train ride, which usually is filled with dreams of a future, now turns to a feeling of dread over what might await me at work today. I remember Marjorie’s warning about a possible scathing email. Better to brace for it than to get caught unawares, but I guess my anxiety thinks that “brace” means “consider every possible worst-case scenario and panic about them.”

I’m unusually sweaty by the time I walk into the studio offices. I get my bag put down at my desk, then visit the breakfast station. Marjorie is absent from the table today, having no one to catch, which puts me somewhat at ease - she isn’t going to break the news that I’m fired over my coffee. So at least I’ve got that going for me.

Caffeine in hand, I peek my head into Jenny’s office.

“Oh! You’re back!” That’s a pleasant surprise, “I heard you were sick yesterday. Are you feeling any better?”

“Oh, hi Lane!” she greets, “Yeah, I think it was food poisoning, unfortunately. Luckily just a one-day thing,” Jenny pushes her chair away from her desk and turns toward me, “So… Yesterday. How did it go with the VP? Marjorie said you really stepped up and got the job done!”

“Oh, yeah, I got some great shots,” I say, trying to find the best words to stay humble, “He seemed like he… really… well, maybe he just tolerated me? Heh,”

Jenny lowers her chin and gives me a good-naturedly doubtful look.

“Marjorie _also_ said the VP actually sat still for you. And _smiled. And COMPLIMENTED YOU!”_ Jenny pumps her fist, celebrating those facts as apparent victories. I feel myself blush.

“Yeah, well - He did, but… I also might’ve taken too long and messed up his schedule…” I can’t help myself. I have to share this anxiety with someone. 

Jenny’s face sobers as she takes in the fact, brows furrowing and nodding.

“Ooh… Yeah, that’s... not ideal,” she says, swivelling in her chair, “But, hey, don’t waste your time worrying about it. It sounds like you did an amazing job, and I’m so happy that you were able to step in for me. Sounds to me like Sunday night’s tacos were _fate,_ ”

“...What?” I say with a snort.

“Everything happens for a reason, Lane,” she says, turning back to her work, “You’ll see.”

“Heh... yeah, okay. Oh, by the way, I’ve got the photos edited already. Do you want me to send them to you?”

“Already? Lane, you kick ass! Go ahead and send them my way, and I’ll get them sent to the VP and PR for approvals.”

“Thanks!” I turn to leave, but a thought stops me in my tracks, and I do a 180. 

“Oh, um… Actually Jenny, there’s, uh… Some pictures on the roll that the VP asked me to take, and I… Don’t think they’re meant to be viewed by PR. Or anyone, probably. They were… personal shots.”

I am walking a fine-ass line here. This absolutely sounds like I was taking lewd photos of the Vice President, but I don’t know how else to put it. The look Jenny gives me confirms that what I just said sounded highly suspicious.

“N-not what you think,” I add, “Just kind of like… a…” I have no idea how to describe this. I don’t want to start rumors, so mentioning that bodyguard as a “romantic interest” is definitely out. 

“I… Um, okay,” Jenny hesitates, “Well, why don’t you send the… publishable photos to me as usual, and then send a separate email with the personal shots in a zipped file? I can just forward them right on.”

“I… Guess that works,” I concede, “Okay, bye.”

In the awkward style that I always carry, I beat a hasty retreat back to my desk, nearly spilling my coffee on the way. 

That less-than-graceful description of those pictures now has me far more anxious than the possible wrath of the VP. If they decide to investigate my history with “personal” photography, I will be out of a job in minutes. Kicked to the streets - if I’m not reported to law enforcement and arrested first. Fucking up the VP’s schedule could be a job-loser, but that poor wordage could very well be a life-ruiner. 

What the fuck have I done?

The morning is a ball of anxiety. The only productivity I achieve is getting those photos categorized (stopping to triple-check that I didn’t put any photos in the wrong folders), then zipped and sent off to Jenny. I wonder if she’ll decide to take a peek in that zipped file… I suppose if she does, then it would back up my statement that the photos weren’t inappropriate. Honestly, that would be more preferable than just leaving things open-ended the way I had. I regret my choice not to start a rumor, somehow. 

Lunch comes and goes in silence. I take my lunch out to one of the balconies, hoping the fresh air will help calm me down. It only goes so far, and I dread sitting back down at my desk. Nevertheless, time moves forward, and I make my way back to the studio offices, preparing for an afternoon of low-grade panic. 

When Jenny knocks on the wall of my cubicle, tears spring into my eyes just about immediately. Oh my fuck, here it comes. I half expect to see armed infantrymen with her. 

But no. She is alone, and she looks downright shocked. Is she confronting me first?

“Lane, could you… Come with me, please? I have something to show you.”

Show me? 

Fucking hell, the suspense is KILLING ME. The walk to Jenny’s office feels like three miles instead of three steps. When we arrive, Jenny sits at her computer and gestures for me to look at her screen. 

There’s an email pulled up. The sender is identified as one Rufus Shinra. CC’d - Marjorie Vellege. Subject line - Re:Yesterday’s Photos.

_“Dear Ms. Fesren,_

_Thank you for sending on these photos. They are all excellent quality, and the headshots have my full approval. Please send them on to PR to use as needed._

_I wanted to take a moment to give special thanks to the photographer who stood in for you yesterday, Lane Elliott. Their professionalism and generosity was a very welcome change to what I usually find in the photography studio, and I hope you and your staff can take many cues from their attitude._

_I am very interested in seeing more of Lane in the near future, and have requested their appointment as my principal photographer going forth. I feel most comfortable in front of their camera, and look forward to receiving their contact information to arrange further work and correspondence. Please see to it that this information is delivered to me promptly._

_I appreciate your cooperation and understanding. I wish you well._

_Rufus Shinra_

_Vice President_

_Shinra Electric Power Company”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Mention of boudoir photography

How does one respond to an email like that? I feel frozen somewhere between cringing on Jenny’s behalf for the scathing read, and drop-jaw from my own apparent…

Promotion. 

Did I just get promoted?

“Jenny, are you sure what you had yesterday isn’t contagious? Because, like, I think I might throw up.”

“Lane… This is… I…” Jenny has to pause to take a deep breath, collecting her thoughts (which I’m sure are numerous), “I’m so happy for you.”

Oh shit, she’s hurt. Her voice cracks as she speaks, and I turn to look at her. There’s a smile on her lips, but her eyes want me dead. 

I shrink.

“Thanks for sharing this, Jenny,” I say quietly, “I’m… Gonna head back to my desk now.”

“You do that,” she says shortly. Behind me, Jenny closes the door, which is something I have never seen her do before.

Working out of a cubicle, I have no door to close. I don’t think it’s really hit me yet, but as I sit and stare at my screen, it begins to sink in. Not only did I manage to avoid a scathing email for wasting the VP’s time, but he… promoted me. Which probably means I’m going to be officially hired. 

But is that truly a good thing? Before long, this whole department is going to hate me. Or at least Jenny will. I can’t believe he was such a dick to her in that email - it was the most cuttingly cruel business-casual language I’d ever laid eyes on. Do I even  _ want _ to work with this guy? One session was stressful enough… I couldn’t imagine doing that more than once a month at the dead most. 

I don’t think I can do this. 

My computer  _ dings _ softly with an email notification. I open it and see that Jenny has responded to Rufus Shinra, and CC’d me.

_ “Hello Mr. Vice President, _

_ Thank you for your kind email. We will conduct another department review in response to your comments.  _

_ Lane was positively joyful upon receiving your compliments. I have CC’d them here so they can reach out and thank you personally. Their contact info is included on the linked profile. _

_ Thank you for your swift response. Until next time. _

_ Jennifer Fesren _

_ Lead Photographer, PR _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

Oh, my heart just aches for poor Jenny. I did appreciate the compliments, but I must say I don’t appreciate being weaponized against my coworkers. What a shitty move. Not sure what else to expect from a guy like Shinra, though. He probably grew up a spoiled, rich little brat, never getting told no. High maintenance, high standards.

Which I apparently meet somehow. 

Honestly, he and I could not possibly be more different. I grew up dirt poor on a farm outside of Kalm, barely scraping by. I always go out of my way to help others and make sure everyone around me is comfortable, and he seems to expect everyone around him to meet his every demand without so much as being asked nicely.

Well, whether he’s a dick or not, he did just provide me a whole lot of job security. I wonder how much the Vice President’s principal photographer might make.

I hit reply, making sure to put Rufus Shinra in the recipient box and CC Jenny and Marjorie. Time to follow Jenny’s lead and “thank him personally,” regardless of how I’m currently feeling. I don’t want to put this off any longer. 

_ “Dear Mr. Vice President, _

_ I wanted to sincerely thank you for your incredibly kind words, both during our time together yesterday and through the shared email today. I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity on offer, and would be happy to accept the position, provided HR and the hiring department approve. That given, I’d be happy to facilitate further contact to work out the details of the appointment at a later time.  _

_ I am flattered and inspired by your generous compliments, and I’m very much looking forward to applying them to my future work with you. Please feel free to reach out whenever you’d like to arrange photo sessions or event coverage - my inbox is always open! _

_ Thank you so very much again for your generosity. I look forward to working with you! _

_ Lane Elliott _

_ Photography Intern, PR _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

Typing that thing is a process - First I have to decide whether I actually want to accept the position or not. I suppose I should - I like being able to afford decent food every now and again, and frankly, this was the miracle I was hoping for. No more worrying about what happens at the end of the month - I’m betting I can barter for at least an extension to my assignment, possibly full onboarding. Depends on how much he decides he actually likes me, I guess. 

In addition to that, I type and retype the paragraphs half a dozen times, trying my damndest not to sound passive-aggressive or ass-kissy. It’s a weird balance to try to strike. How do you email one of the most powerful men in the world who happens to kind of be an asshole?

I hit send, and away it goes. Hopefully I struck the balance right. Did I just get lucky yesterday, or am I actually going to be able to vibe with the VP? I guess only time will tell.

_ Ding _ .

Not even five minutes have gone by. What the fuck? Shinra has returned my email already. This time, the CC box is notably empty. This is a new email chain, and it’s private - just me and him. The subject line is blank, marked with the auto-generated [No Subject] tag. The message also lacks a greeting - straight to the point.

_ “I’m so glad you’ll be taking on the position. I’ll admit I was very much hoping you would. I think this will be the beginning of a wonderful partnership.  _

_ If you’re willing to answer, I’m curious - Do you have a photography business on the side? _

_ Rufus Shinra _

_ Vice President  _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

A prompt response deserves a prompt response, but his question makes my blood run cold. I have to reread it several times to make sure I’m reading it right. 

Because, as a matter of fact, I  _ do _ have a photography business on the side. It’s the exact one I’ve been panicking about all morning. 

Photography is my hobby, but boudoir photography is my passion. I’ve always been a kinky son of a bitch, and boudoir shoots are my bread and butter. If I could do that as a career for real, I’d drop everything to do it in a heartbeat. I’d live on the street if I had to, seriously. I’d make it work. 

But there is no way in hell I am admitting all that to this man. 

I respond:

_ “Dear Mr. Vice President, _

_ Thanks again. I can’t wait to get started. Should I go about contacting HR about this appointment, or is that something you’ll take care of? Let me know and I will see to the details. _

_ And yes, to answer your question, I accept private bookings for close friends on the side. I don’t currently have a large-scale business or studio outside of the work I do for Shinra. _

_ Thank you! _

_ Lane Elliott _

_ Photography Intern, PR _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

I sit back and wait to see if he’ll respond to my question, or if that’s all the attention he’ll spare me today. Busy schedule, after all, right? I mostly expect him not to give me the time of day unless he needs something from me.

Imagine my surprise when I get another notification almost immediately.

_ “No need for formalities in one-on-one conversations. Please call me Rufus. _

_ One of my associates is taking care of the HR arrangements. I’ll put you in contact with him soon. _

_ I feel it’s important to establish boundaries ASAP - how do you feel about explicit photography, Lane?” _

I don’t think I can breathe anymore. I might be dead.

Is… Is this a trap?

But… what if it isn’t? Maybe he already knows about my business. Maybe that’s why he was so complimentary. Maybe it’s why he wants me.

_ “Thank you. I look forward to meeting your associate. _

_ I would be happy to assist with any - and all - of your photography requests, including as mentioned. Just let me know what you’d like, and when.” _

Oh my fuck, I can’t believe I just sent that. Did I really just send that? I go to hit “unsend,” but the button disappears right before I click.

_ Too late. _

I sit in shock for a few moments, waiting for the world to explode.

_ Ding _ .

_ “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that. Would you be willing to do a boudoir shoot in the building studio this weekend? Saturday morning, 10 am.” _

I waste absolutely no time waiting to respond.

_ “Of course! I will see you in the studio on Saturday. I look forward to it!” _

I slump backwards in my chair, finally exhaling a breath that I’m pretty sure I’ve been holding for the last several minutes.

It’s only Tuesday.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: BDSM party; mentions of impact, bondage, flogging, & power exchange

The week drags by in silence and anticipation. I don’t hear anything else from the VP or his associate that was supposed to reach out. Jenny withholds most of my usual work from me, so I don’t have very much to do. An employee audit team stops by the department to interview and observe the employees. Notably, they skip me over, totally ignored. No one comes to arrest me, either, and I don’t get any notices that might indicate that I’ve been fired overnight. The week is entirely just… nothing.

I’m fucking exhausted by the time I get off the train on Friday.

My bed is calling my name, but Friday nights are when I get to live. My favorite day of the week is finally here, and I can’t wait to get dressed up and head out.

I own one nice set of clothes just for Friday nights - a simple black dress shirt and dark gray slacks, plus a pair of black combat boots. A gray flat cap helps cover up my brightly colored hair, and defines the trademark that most folks know me by. The finishing touch is a paper-mache eye mask, decorated with a few downward-pointed feathers and painted black.

_ Ah, there you are _ , the mirror says. Aperture, the masked photographer. I grab my camera bag, sling it over my shoulder, and head out the door.

Dinner is grabbed from a street vendor on the way to the train station. I don’t head toward the Sector 0 trains tonight - the locomotive I’m after is headed toward the Sector 6 undercity. Wall Market is a second home for me, and is the safest place to run my side business.

The building’s entrance is practically a cubby, but every Friday night it turns into a bustling scene that fills the space inside. The bouncers all know who I am, and they let me in without question. I’m early, but even now, the lights are dimmed. The action has already begun.

Bass thumps through the walls and floor as couples and partners mill about, all of them dressed in fancy outfits and masquerade masks, as per dress code. Many of them sport bright pink paper bracelets, and I begin trying to memorize who has them on and who decided not to take them. The ceiling is tall, and the floor is made of concrete here. Scattered throughout the room, furniture and mats are set up for nefarious uses. 

I believe I mentioned being a kinky bastard. This is my scene - a late-night BDSM play party, electrified with life and buzzing with sex.

“Aperture!” I hear a voice call. I know him as Spicier, the young man who leads this underground club. He approaches me with a smile beneath his mask, “Good to see you, as always! Ready for tonight?”

“Of course I am. I’ve been looking forward to it all week!”

“Ah, stress at work again?” he says good-naturedly, reading me like a book as he hands an SD card off to me. I open my camera bag and extract my partner in crime, opening the slot and clicking the card into place.

“Oh, you have  _ no _ idea…”

More and more people file in, all dressed similarly to the rest of us - suspenders, flowing dresses of every shape and size, bow ties, and lots and lots of leather and rope. Once past the door, subs being ordered to strip isn’t uncommon at all. I am the only one on the floor with a camera tonight - house rules strictly forbid anyone else from taking pictures. I have special clearance, and am trusted to know what I’m doing. The pink bracelets denote permission for photo-taking, and when someone isn’t wearing a bracelet, I take care to aim my camera away.

Shouts can be heard from the impact corner. In the center of the room, a man is kicked in the side by a woman in big black boots, and moans loudly. Both members of the couple wear the bracelets, and I make my way around the circle of audience members to get a good angle for photographs.

_ Click, click. _

This is my favorite place in the world to be. Most of these folks have been here before and recognize me, often giving me little waves or greetings in passing. The job of a photographer is to blend in as much as possible, and it’s a job I’m good at. I keep to myself as I look for bracelets and shoot the night away, one scene at a time. This is my Friday night routine, and I wouldn’t give it up for the world.

Hours pass in heartbeats. When the scening couples don’t have permission bracelets on, I have the luxury of a break, watching and taking in the show while giving my camera a rest. It’s always so lovely - the impact scenes are exciting, the rope scenes are artistic, and the fetish scenes are fascinating. I don’t feel very turned on, per se, but rather I feel very at home, existing in a space where shame is unwarranted. It’s so freeing.

I’m standing on the inside ring of the crowd gathered around the central scene mat when a couple I don’t recognize takes the empty stage. Neither of them are wearing bracelets, so I let my camera rest against my chest, angled at the floor. 

The sub is a young man, wearing a gilded mask and a half-open black shirt that has a silky damask pattern that I can just barely catch glimpses of in the low light. A long red ponytail seems to appear out of nowhere - the rest of his hair is shaggy, but cropped. His dominant leads him by the arm toward the center and, though I can’t hear it, apparently orders him to strip. The dom is striking, with long black hair tied up halfway. His mask is black, edged with gold, and the buttons on his inky dress shirt are brassy. 

Something about him is… vaguely familiar.

I try to place where I’ve seen him before as I watch the scene unfold. The redhead’s wrists are bound, and the rope is tied to the hard point in the ceiling, keeping them raised high above his head. A spreader bar is cuffed around his ankles, leaving him dangling wide open for whatever his dom has planned. The scene is sensual as hell, as many of them have been tonight, but the tension between these two is positively electric. Their chemistry is thick like smoke in the air, and no one in the audience dares to move a muscle.

The dom teases his sub’s nipples, eliciting whimpers and cries. He runs his gloved fingertips over soft, lightly freckled skin, making the redhead shiver. Eventually, the dom returns to his bag and produces two floggers from it, artfully twisted black leather.

He starts with just one, giving gentle swings over his sub’s back, beating firmly and with a steady rhythm. Slowly, the second flogger comes to life. The scene evolves, gradually picking up until the sub is being flogged Florentine. That’s not an easy skill to learn, and I think this may be the most beautiful show of it I’ve ever witnessed.

I’ve seen a lot of amazing scenes in my time, but this is one I’m going to remember. The way the sub cries out, the dom’s teeth bared in sadistic pleasure, the skilled, elegant swing of the floggers… It’s beautiful in a strange kind of way. A way I’m used to, sure, but still. Something about this particular moment is… different somehow. I can’t explain it.

Maybe it’s just because both of those guys are ridiculously hot.

Their scene does eventually come to an end, and I resume my rounds to the different scene corners. Nothing even comes close to that last scene, though. I have a feeling that it’s going to be one I won’t easily forget. I normally don’t get turned on by scenes, but watching that one has me fairly hot and bothered. Thank gods for low lighting. I have a tell - I blush like crazy when I’m flustered. 

The night is long, yet never long enough. Eventually, folks start to trickle out the doors, having had their fill of the energy and scandal. Still, a few folks I know continue to use their time to their best ability.

I capture a beautiful shot of a finished rope suspension design by one of the most talented riggers in the club. As he begins to undo his practiced knots, I lower my camera. Somehow, my eyes focus past the beautiful model in the center of the room and fall to the crowd circle behind her.

That man with the black hair is looking at me.

His eyes aren’t focused on the model between us, I swear. He’s staring above her, right in my direction. I hold his gaze for a singular second before he turns away, waltzing off and finding something else of interest. I’m puzzled for a moment, wondering why he might’ve been staring at me. It’s not terribly uncommon, especially for new folks, to be concerned about the person toting a camera around. Maybe I accidentally took a photo where he’s in the background? That would get edited out.

But then something clicks. I know why he’s familiar to me.

He looks - and acts - just like Rufus Shinra’s bodyguard.

My blood runs cold as ice. Did… Did he follow me here tonight? Is that how the VP knew I did boudoir photography? Wait, okay, don’t be irrational, Lane… It might be entirely coincidence. Might not even be the same guy. Maybe he has a twin or something. 

Still, I keep my eye on him and his sub through the rest of the evening. He doesn’t stare at me again.

About half an hour away from last call, I head over to the bar where Spicier and his friends are hanging out. As per usual, I make sure he can see me removing the SD card he lent me from my camera.

“Here you go, Spice,” I say with a smile, “Great night. Looking forward to next Friday!”

“Hey, thanks, Aperture. Everybody loved last week’s pics, by the way - thanks for volunteering!”

“Anytime, dude. I love getting to do this.”

“Are you gonna hang out any longer? I’ll pay ya in drinks if you stay,” he tempts.

“I’ll take you up on one, thanks,” I say. I have a seat at the bar, and Spicier flags down the bartender to send my way. I order a rum and cola, and sip at it slowly while I bask in the atmosphere of the place.

The black-haired man and his redhead sub are chilling out now, watching a wax play scene taking place in the corner. The redhead slouches, his hands in his pockets, contrasting to the tall, staunch frame of his dominating partner. 

They aren’t looking at me, but I still avert my gaze, trying not to stare. I consider whether I should actually go and try to talk to them - just introduce myself and make sure they know that I have permission to take photos and whatnot. Ultimately, I decide against it - even with the liquid courage in my system, I’ve had enough stress this week. Now is the time to unwind. 

I sip at my drink, watching the crowd and wasting time. I’m not sure I’ll stay much longer, but I think there’s a part of me that wants to wait until those two guys leave. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t afraid that they might follow me home. I wait, and I sip. Fifteen minutes to close. 

“Hey, Shion!”

Spicier’s voice catches my attention. He’s talking to someone next to me now, and I try to subtly glance up to my right to see who he’s talking to. Shion is a name I don’t recognize.

Holy shit, it’s the black-haired guy. His back is to me, so luckily he doesn’t see my double-take. I bury my nose back in my drink and take another sip while I try to relax. So apparently he knows Spicier, huh? I’ll admit, that’s really quite comforting. Means he’s not some random creep who just walked in here, he’s well-known.

So... he probably wasn’t sent here to spy on me. I just overreacted.

But… wait a minute, where’s his redheaded partner? They’ve been attached at the hip all night - did he go home? I swear I just saw him. I eavesdrop as I look around. 

“Not often that we get to see you in here on a Friday,” Spicier says.

“Not often that I get this night off,” Shion responds. His voice is deep and dark, like velvet. Still no sign of that redhead.

“Not house topping tonight, I noticed,” says another group leader, Greyed.

“Not while I have a partner here. He demands all of my attention.”

So he must still be here, then. But where is he?

Out of the very corner of my eye, I catch a tiny glimpse of red moving on my left. I thought maybe he was off in the corner, but when I turn to look, I see that he’s taken the barstool only two seats away from me. His eyes are pointed in my direction. 

I turn quickly back to my drink. Shit… I hope he didn’t notice that. Maybe he was just looking over my head, at his partner.

The snickering coming from him suggests otherwise. I feel a blush begin to rise, and I sip my drink again in a poor attempt to act natural.

“Yo, barkeep,” he speaks, flagging him down. He points at me, “I’ll have what they’re having.”

_ W-what? _

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. What the hell is that about? The bartender mixes his rum and cola and slides it over to him. I watch as the redhead takes a sip and looks the drink over, analyzing what he’s just been given. Without looking at me, he speaks.

“Hey kid,” he says, “They’re talkin’ about you.”

My eyes widen, and my chin swivels the other way to catch back up to what Spicier’s gang was saying. To my surprise, all five people in the group are staring at me.

“Hello, earth to Aperture,” says Chilla, one of the other group leaders, “You in there? Or are you that drunk already?”

“Hah, no no, I’m good - sorry,” I briefly meet eyes with this “Shion” character. Behind his black paper mask, I can see his amber eyes picking up golden flecks of light. Oh gods, those are definitely the same amber eyes I was editing in the VP’s photos just the other day. The relaxed feeling gives way again to paranoia - that  _ has _ to be that same bodyguard. And even though I’m wearing a mask, my blue hair has got to be a dead giveaway to who I am. I pray to gods that he won’t be able to place my face.

“I wanted to introduce you guys,” Spicier brings me back to earth, “Aperture, this is Shion. He’s one of our house tops - usually comes around on Sunday nights.”

Shion extends his hand to me, and I gingerly shake it, failing miserably to feign confidence.

“Aperture,” he repeats, “Nice to meet you. Do you photograph here every Friday, then?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s like, the only night I have to stay up late. Or - it has been,” Have I mentioned that I tend to ramble when I’m nervous? “It might be changing soon, I don’t know. It’s just kinda… up in the air… right now…” I trail off.  _ Shut up, Lane. _

“Yes, I understand that. I have a rather sporadic schedule myself. I’m surprised we haven’t crossed paths sooner.”

Something about the way he says that puts me on edge. It had an implication I didn’t quite catch. 

“Yeah,” is about all I can say in return. I have no idea how to go about having a conversation with this guy right now - especially since I don’t know what they were talking about before this introduction. 

“How long have you been doing the photos for these events?” Shion asks, taking the lead.

“Well… Probably about eight months?” I ballpark. I look at Spicier for confirmation on that claim, and he smiles and nods in agreement.

“Hm,” Shion doesn’t really respond. He takes a sip from a drink I hadn’t noticed him holding. Something about the same color as his eyes. He seems like a guy who drinks whiskey neat, so I’ll assume that’s what’s in his glass. 

When he lowers the cup, he speaks again.

“Out of curiosity, do you ever conduct private shoots as well?”

My blood ices again. He phrased that startlingly similar to how the VP had worded it in his email.  _ Definitely the same guy _ . I better be careful of what I reveal here.

Spicier, however, doesn’t give me a chance.

“Yeah, Aperture’s really talented at boudoir shoots! I bought one for my partner last month and the results were stunning!” He gestures to me, “Aperture, do you have your card with you tonight? You should give one to Shion.”

Normally, I jump at this chance, but I don’t want this guy having my business’s info. I quickly formulate an excuse.

“Oh, um… I actually left them at home tonight. Sorry about that,” I lie, “Maybe next time?” In truth, I always carry business cards in my camera bag. I’d even given out a few earlier tonight. In retrospect, this is a shitty excuse - if he was watching, he probably saw me hand one out.

“Oh, wait!” Spicier’s partner, who goes by Hera, reaches into her purse, “I actually found one on the floor earlier tonight. I was gonna give it back to you, Aperture, but here - Shion can have it!” She hands the card off to him, and he grins as he takes it in his leather glove. I watch in horror as my personal info is placed in the exact wrong hands.

“Thank you, Hera,” he says, “What a  _ lucky _ coincidence,” There’s something in his eyes that’s abjectly terrifying. Holy shit, he knows I was lying. Of course he would’ve been watching. He’s spying on me. He has been all night.

There are two swigs left of my drink, and in an attempt to calm my panic, I chug the last of it down.

“It’s, um… pretty late,” I make excuses, “I better get going if I wanna catch the train,”  _ Shit, Lane, don’t tell him you take the train! Shut up! _

“Oh… Well, okay. Thanks again for your help, Aperture. Have a great night!” Spicier says. I’m halfway out the door before he can finish, struggling to shove my camera back in my bag. I give the group a hasty wave as I rush out the door and onto the street. 

Holy fuck. I am  _ doomed _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey extra surprise chapters! Holy shit you guys, I posted this exactly 14 hours ago and it has 200 HITS. WHERE ARE YOU ALL COMING FROM???
> 
> This is what I get for pretagging my smut lol. If you subscribe or follow this work, I promise I'll be posting more soon! This is a work I'm currently in the process of writing, but I've got about 20-some odd chapters written with lots and lots of good stuff on the way! And I'm very inspired by this work lately, so it's coming along fast. More very soon - keep reading and follow for that smutty, smutty goodness :3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Boudoir photo shoot

I spend my entire trip home looking over my shoulder. I probably look like a paranoid weirdo, expecting to get jumped and confronted by those guys any minute now. There are too many unanswered questions - Was that really the bodyguard? What about the redhead - is he some kind of bodyguard too? I don’t think the VP had addressed his bodyguard as “Shion,” but then, nobody goes by their real names in the scene... I can’t remember what he’d called his bodyguard in the studio. I wasn’t ever properly introduced to the redhead either - he just ordered my drink. Was that some kind of weird way of flirting? Why would he do that?

The most damning question of all is what will become of my info. My first reaction to the fact that my boudoir business card is now in Shion’s hands is panic, but maybe it’s not that big of a deal. What was he going to do - tattle to Shinra? Rufus already knows about my willingness to do this. He isn’t likely to be angry to find out that I do it on the side. The worst-case scenario is probably that he tells me to drop my side gig and just devote those kinds of shoots to him. Gods, if that happened… I mean, I don’t think I could. I love this way too much. 

But what choice would I have?

Friday night is a mostly sleepless one. The event ran until 2 in the morning, and after a 30-minute trip home, I plop down on my mattress only to spend another hour freaking out. 

I couldn’t tell you when exactly I’d passed out, but the next thing I know, my alarm is going off at 7:30.

Exhausted, I pull myself out of bed and into the shower, letting the cold water bring me to alertness. That deep wave of dread fills me back up.

The Vice President’s photo shoot is today.

I put on my nicest office clothes, make sure I have everything packed, and stuff down a cup of yogurt for fuel. The ride to the building is not nearly as calm as it has been in past weeks. On top of all the anxieties left over from last night, now I have to worry about getting in the building. If any of my coworkers happen to be in today, I’ll probably get told off for being in on my day off. As an intern, I’m not allowed to take overtime. The VP’s associate will probably get that worked out with HR eventually, but that would still leave the question - “Why are you here on your day off?” I don’t want to have to answer that, so the goal is to get in unnoticed. 

Not that I do the best job of it when the time comes. More than anything, I know I need to look natural so I don’t draw any attention to myself. If any of the front desk staff recognize me, they don’t say anything, and before long I’m safe in the elevator, alone at last. The studio offices seem to be deserted today, as no one needed to work the weekend, so I have the space all to myself. It calms my nerves, and I use the keys tacked on the corkboard to unlock the studio.

It’s 9 now - I got here extra early to be absolutely certain that I’ll be ready when the VP arrives. I take my time setting up the lights, choosing backdrop options, and making sure that things are well in line and looking nice for the VP. Whoever used the studio last left it a bit of a mess, so most of my time is devoted to straightening things up. 

There’s a knock on the studio door at 9:30. The early arrival makes me jump.

“Come in!” I call through the thin walls. The door slowly opens, and a dark suit steps inside.

The black-haired bodyguard. 

“Good morning,” he greets, sounding stern and businesslike, “Nice to see you again. I’m here to conduct a security check of the equipment. May I look around?”

“Uh, yeah, go right ahead,” I stutter, trying to get out of his way. I attempt to distract myself with backdrop setup, but the way he walks around the entire room in silence is unnerving. For the fortieth time this week, I consider that this might just all be a big trap to get me fired. I know it’s too elaborate to be true, but… Well, I’ve heard that the VP can be a drama queen, so it’s not out of the question. I think rationalizing my anxiety might be my superpower. 

Eventually, thankfully, the man (what was his name again?) breaks the silence.

“Everything looks good,” he confirms, “Do you need any help setting up?”

I glance at the clock. 9:45.

“Um… I mean, putting up backdrops goes way faster with two sets of hands,” I say. He nods and takes a stance at the other end of the backdrop stand, and together we hook the scrolls of fabric into place. I let them all unfurl, happy with my choices for the VP. Once we finish, we both step back, and I survey what I’ve got. Everything seems ready to go for now.

“I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” the man says, making me jump by suddenly breaking the silence. He’s way taller than me, and his back tilts forward just a little as he looks me in the eyes, “You were?”

“Lane Elliott,” I say, this time giving feigned confidence a real effort. He extends his hand, and we shake. I recognize the feeling of those gloves - I swear it.

“Tseng,” he says. Short and simple, and definitely rings a bell. That’s right - Tseng. I knew that. 

“Nice to meet you,” I say. It’s a lot easier to revert back to autopilot “office mode” when you’re in the office - not so easy when you’re at a BDSM party.

“Are these the backgrounds for today’s shoot?” Tseng asks. I wonder if he knows exactly what _kind_ of shoot the VP is here for. If he was indeed the same guy I met last night, then I’m guessing that he does, in fact, know all about it. 

“These are my suggestions,” I say, “I’ll let the Vice President take a look at the other options. It’s his shoot, of course, so I’d be happy to use whatever he wants.”

“Hm,” Tseng makes that short noise of understanding - the exact same one that I heard from “Shion” last night. The evidence continues to pile up. The gloves, the amber eyes, the vocal mannerisms… And yet he hasn’t said a word on it yet. He’s acting as though this is our first time meeting - and I suppose, in retrospect, it sort of is. 

“May I ask what time you arrived this morning?” Tseng asks, “The VP wants to make sure that you’re fairly compensated for your time.” 

The VP plans to compensate me for this, huh? Payment hadn’t even been discussed in our emails - I’d just flat-out accepted the shoot. That was… probably less than professional of me. Glad Shinra is picking up my slack on that front.

“Oh, um, well… I got here around 9,” I reply.

Tseng raises a brow at my answer.

“That’s awfully early, considering how late you were out last night.”

I freeze. I can feel myself turn pale. 

Nail in the coffin - Shion and Tseng are _absolutely_ the same person.

I am unable to respond to him, my mind just pouring over everything that this could mean. But luckily, the silence is cut off. Tseng’s phone rings, and he pulls it from his pocket and answers.

There’s no “Hello” or greeting - just silence as he listens to whatever is being said on the other end of the call. Though it’s quiet in the room, I can glean none of it. 

“Excellent work, Reno,” Tseng finally says, “You can leave it on my desk, I’ll take a look at it later. Did you find anything regarding the tip we were given about the upcoming event?”

More silence. I furrow my brow - this conversation seems nonsensical to me.

“That’s alright, keep after it. Thank you for keeping me updated. Dismissed,” With that, he hangs up the phone and slips it back into his pocket.

“Excuse me for a moment,” he says casually, turning toward the door, “I’m going to check on the Vice President and see if he’s ready.”

I say nothing as Tseng walks out of the room, closing the door behind him. In the silence that remains, I try to process what just happened.

All the implications hit me at once. He has my business card with all my contact info and rates. He knows what club I’m a member of and when I usually go there. He knows who I am and where I work. And if he has access to employee databases, he can find out where I live.

He knows damn near every single secret I have. 

One of those little unspoken rules of kink clubs is that you don’t talk about kink clubs. If you see someone in your day-to-day that you know from night events, you don’t talk about it. It almost feels as if he’s broken that rule, but… well, we were all alone in here. I wonder if he’ll make any more reference to it in front of the VP. 

I just don’t know what to say or do about any of that. I feel frozen, like time has stopped. Nothing is real and none of it matters. 

I am jarred back to life by the sound of the door opening. 

Rufus Shinra enters the studio, with Tseng hot on his tail. He smiles when he sees me.

“Ah, Lane. How wonderful to see you again,” His outfit compounds my frozen state - he’s wearing a deep purple silk robe that ends at his mid-thigh, and he looks positively elegant in it. Luckily, the sound of his voice is enough to break through it all and wake me back up.

“G-Good morning, Mr. Vice President,” I say, trying to remember how to be a professional. I swear I _am_ professional in boudoir sessions, but this isn’t making a very good example. 

“Once again - please call me Rufus,” he says. He’s still smiling, but the look he gives me is pointed. Behind him, I can see Tseng smirk as he sets down a bag in the corner. He makes no move to leave, and I wonder if he plans to stay the entire time. 

“Oh… right,” I try to recover with a grin, but I can tell that I’m bright red again, “Are you ready to get started? Anything I can get you before we begin?”

“I’m more than ready,” Rufus says. He steps over to the backdrop and removes his soft gray slippers before he steps onto it, “Truth be told, this is something I’ve always wanted to do. But photographers who work outside the company just aren’t trustworthy enough for this kind of work,” He looks me in the eyes, “I’m sure you understand - if things like this were to get out to the public… Well, it wouldn’t be easy on me. But the _worst_ consequences would have to fall on the photographer. It’s just so messy - best to keep things within the scope of control, right?”

That… was a threat. His face communicates his message loud and clear - _You will keep my secret, or else._

I nod vigorously, my face as serious as it can be.

“Yes, Sir,” I say at default, “I… fully understand.”

Rufus smiles.

“I knew you would,” he says, “You’ve got quite a few secrets of your own, don’t you, Lane?”

I’m starting to lose my composure at this point. I’ve been completely backed against a wall. I can hear a breathy chuckle come from Tseng in the corner.

“Well,” Rufus continues, “I don’t want us to have to keep any secrets from each other anymore. I think that you and I have a lot in common - we’re on the same team here. Help me help you, and together we’ll make sure that everyone’s happy.”

Rufus turns around and investigates the backdrop I selected. It’s dark gray, washed in watercolor. He ponders it for a moment, and I decide that instead of responding to his statement, I’ll talk about this instead.

“If you wanted to keep the purple on,” I say, “We might want to start with a different backdrop,” I point to the corner where the backdrops are kept, right at a poster displaying all the options, “We can take our pick from the pile. Something pale gray or silver will really work nicely with that color.”

“I was just thinking that,” Rufus says, stepping toward the stacks of backdrop rolls, “The dark gray might work better a little later. I want to do some with the robe, some without, and then some in a third outfit.”

“Sounds great,” I say. Rufus seems like he has a good handle on photo composition already - interesting, for someone who’s apparently been such a nightmare to photograph. As we pick through the background options together, I first guess that he might just like total control of his photo sessions. But no - as we look, he asks repeatedly for my “professional opinion.” Clearly, he values it. 

Rufus Shinra is a very collaborative model. I get the sense that the reason he’s been so difficult with the team is because he dislikes being bossed around and posed like a doll. He wants to have input. And I may very well have been the first photographer to ever give him that power. 

“Oh, this one is gorgeous,” Rufus says, pulling up a silvery fleur de lis backdrop roll. 

“It is…” I say, investigating, “It’ll be great for the robe shots. I was worried the pattern might be a little busy, and it’s a bit small, but we can give it a shot!”

“Excellent,” Rufus says, stepping back, “Tseng, help them put it up, please,”

Tseng obeys silently, standing at the other end of the stand and helping me secure it. We let it unfurl - ooh, it’s even smaller than I thought. I’ll need to move in for this, or else get creative with my cropping for the horizontal images.

Rufus positions himself in the center of the sheet, facing me. He angles his body slightly, relaxes his arms, and staggers his leg position. Damn, he’s got amazing model instinct - I don’t have to give him any direction.

“Nice, nice,” I comment, positioning my camera sight, “Um… So, because the backdrop is a little short, I’ll need to step in a bit closer. Is that okay?”

“Feel free to get as close as you like,” Rufus says lowly. His tone of voice sends a shiver down my spine. I’ve had models flirt with me before, but being flirted with by one of the most powerful men in the world is a cut above.

Nah, he’s flirting with the camera, right? I shake it off and step inwards.

The rhythm of the shoot falls into place fast - faster than almost any other shoot I’ve ever done. Rufus is a natural-born model. Seriously. He knows exactly when to change to a different pose, where to angle himself, move his arms or legs. We discuss the photo composition as I shoot, and he occasionally requests for me to shoot from a new angle or to grab a close-up. Only sometimes do I ask him to change the positioning of his hands, or to bend his knee a little more. His poses almost tell a story - arms around himself, as though begging for modesty, slowly opening up and letting the robe get looser and looser. In some poses, he smiles. In others, he gives the camera a cutting, sultry look.

The robe stays on for nearly half an hour before Rufus finally stands and stretches. I lower my camera, letting him have a break.

“Do you want to take a short break for water or anything?” I ask. We keep a small minifridge of water bottles under the table in here. Probably not the fancy stuff he’s used to, but I may as well offer.

“No, but I think I’m done with the robe,” he says, “Why don’t you get some shots of this?”

I blush as I pick my camera back up. Come on, Lane, you’re used to this. I’ve watched hundreds of people strip in front of my lens. Nothing new. Nothing at all.

Except for this time, it’s Rufus motherfucking Shinra. 

I take a deep breath and press the button halfway in to focus.

Action shots are some of my favorites to get - long series are so much fun to flip back through when editing. Finding the best ones is like a fun little scavenger hunt. I hold the shutter down as the robe slips off his shoulders. He holds it in place for a moment when it reaches his lower back, then turns his chin over his shoulder, giving me a sultry look and then a smirk. Then he turns halfway and lets it fall the rest of the way to the floor, casting his eyes down to watch it go. It’s gorgeous - fuck, I can’t wait to see those shots later. In fact, I decide to open the gallery and flip through them now.

“Damn, that was stunning,” I whisper. Tseng steps away from the wall and peeks over my shoulder. I show him one of the best ones I can find right off the bat - the robe falling mid-air, Rufus’s mouth open just a little, eyes pointed toward the floor with chin pointed at me. His leg is artfully raised so as to conceal his groin. It could be a magazine cover. Never will be, of course, but it’s still that good. 

“Do you want to see, Rufus?” Tseng asks. I look back over the camera, and the fact that Rufus Shinra is now totally naked slaps me in the face. I was so entranced by the shots that I’d pretty much forgotten. 

“I’d love to,” he says, stepping toward us. I keep my eyes upward as I turn the camera toward him. He makes the tiniest gasp and smiles widely.

“Oh, that _is_ stunning,” he says softly, “That’s the kind of shot that I’ve always wanted. Oh, I want it framed for my bedroom,” he laughs softly and looks up, “Or _your_ bedroom,” he says to Tseng.

My heart leaps into my throat. That’s right - I’d forgotten that these two got photos together last week. And that little tease confirms exactly what I’d been suspecting then - in at least some capacity, these two are lovers. 

Tseng laughs and smiles.

“I have a feeling that the shots I would want will be taken later in the shoot,” he says, “But this is certainly beautiful. Lane is very talented.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly, trying to keep humble. 

Rufus steps back onto the backdrop. He picks up the robe and tosses it off to my left, where Tseng meets the fabric to catch it. 

“Should we take a few more with this backdrop, and then switch to the next one?” he directs in the form of a question, “I think that dark gray one would be a nice change of pace,”

“Oh, yes,” I agree. I pick the camera back up to my face, and watch as Rufus poses.

When he dropped the robe, he made an effort to censor himself, but now he makes no such attempt. His manhood is on full display, and by gods, it is impressive. Aesthetically, it’s a damn near perfect dick. His blond pubic hair is neatly manicured, as is the rest of his body hair. Through the sight of the camera, I can stare at anything all I want, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to take full advantage of that ability today. 

We fall back into a rhythm, carrying things along. Most of the nude shots are accomplished on the floor, with Rufus finding comfortable and creative positions to kneel, then sit, then lay. He encourages me to come close, experimenting together with unique angles. At one point, he lays down and has me straddle him standing, aiming my camera down at his face and upper torso. The way he gazes into the camera is mesmerizing. I think about how I’ll be editing a whole lot more of those blue eyes from now on, and honestly, the prospect has me very happy. 

Another half hour passes like a flash of light. In fact, Rufus and I are so into our groove that Tseng is the one who steps in to pause things. 

“I think we should probably stop for a short break,” he says, stepping toward Rufus with a bottle of water, “Lane, I can hear your stomach growling. Have you had breakfast yet?”

I blush. It was growling? _Audibly?_ I hadn’t even noticed - I was too focused. 

“I… had something small,” I say.

“Did you?” Tseng raises his brow at me skeptically, “Or are you lying again?”

I wince and turn away, trying to hide my beet-colored face. Fuck, I’d forgotten about that moment from yesterday.

“I’m being honest,” I squeak, “I had some yogurt,”

“You should have more than that,” Tseng chides me, “You can’t keep working on an empty stomach. I’ll call and have breakfast delivered,” Before anyone can stop him, Tseng tosses the robe back at Rufus, who is ready to catch it, and pulls his phone from his pocket. With a single tap on the screen, he’s got a call going through. 

Fucking hell, that way he spoke to me makes me feel like a little kid. The humiliation and shame of being caught in my lie of last night clashes with something deeper, a stirring warmth. I go to a lot of BDSM parties, but I never really participate beyond photography. Largely because I’m always too shy to admit my kinks out loud to anyone. 

There’s no possible way he could know how much this sort of scenario turns me on. Even through my blush, it doesn’t convey the depth of the heat.

“Still researching?” Tseng asks the person on the other end of the phone call, “We need breakfast delivered to the photo studio. PR offices, floor 16. Bring enough for three, please - four, if you want to take a break and join us,” he pauses, then nods, “Thank you, Reno. See you soon.”

Tseng hangs up his phone, slips it back into his pocket, and turns to me.

“Breakfast is on its way. While we wait for it, how about we have a seat and chat a little?”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: BDSM discussion, safeword discussion, boudoir photo shoot, lingerie

I was not even this nervous at my internship interview. And that was a hell of a nerve-wracking experience. Fear and anticipation grip me as I help Tseng pull four chairs from a stack and set them up by the cleaned-off table. By the time I sit down, I can feel sweat dripping down the back of my neck.

“So, Lane,” Rufus asks, starting things off, “Do you have any hobbies beside photography?”

Oh. Well, that was an innocent-enough question. I relax a little bit.

“Hm… Well, photography is really the only one I still pursue. I’ve always really liked music and singing, and I used to ride chocobo-back a lot as a kid.”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Rufus continues, resting his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the table, “Did you grow up in Midgar?”

I… Do not like to answer questions about where I came from. But I’ve gotten good at redirection.

“No, I moved to Midgar about three years ago,” Now for the redirect, “I wanted to work for the Shinra Company; it’s always been a dream of mine.”

“Oh?” Rufus cocks his head, “What made you want to work for us?”

“I mean, in my mind, nothing says success like Shinra. I always admired the work of Shinra’s PR department, and I knew that I wanted to pursue a career in photography, so it felt like a good choice for a stretch goal. I… still sort of can’t believe I managed to get even an internship here, let alone…” I didn’t really know what to call what I was doing now. I hadn’t quite been officially hired yet, had I?

“Let alone full-time employment,” Rufus finishes for me with a grin. I smile back, grateful for his clarification.

“I, uh, wanted to ask you…” I say, remembering suddenly a loose end that needs wrapping up, “About… You said you had an associate taking care of the HR details? No one has reached out to me yet. I was just wondering if-”

“I am the associate in question,” Tseng says, cutting me off, “And I’ve handled the hiring process with HR. They had to create a unique position listing for you, so it’s taken longer than expected,” He sighs and rolls his eyes just slightly, “I apologize for the delay. You should hear from them on Monday.”

“Oh… Thank you,” I say. Well, I’m glad that’s taken care of. It’s been nagging me for several days now.

Just then, I hear the door click open. Another black suit walks in, toting a jug of coffee and a plastic bag that looks like it was hastily thrown together. As he steps inside, I get a good look at him.

“Oh, hey,” he says, locking eyes with me, “It’s you.”

His fiery red hair and long ponytail are unmistakable. That would be the guy I saw last night - the redhead I was never introduced to. And clearly, he recognizes me too.

“Reno,” Tseng addresses him, “This is Lane. They’ve been hired as Rufus’s personal photographer. Lane, my colleague - Reno.”

Reno glances at the Vice President’s outfit. A wry smirk crosses his lips.

“‘Personal photographer,’ huh?” he says, “I can see that. Bet this is the furthest that business card’s ever gotten ya, huh kid?”

Wow, he’s brash. I blush and scan the faces in the room with me. Reno looks almost proud of himself for being such a loudmouth. Rufus covers his mouth to laugh softly, and Tseng rolls his eyes again.

“Actually, we began hiring Lane last week,” Tseng corrects, “The business card had nothing to do with it.”

“Pff, I know that. I was just giving ‘em shit,” Reno says, approaching the table and beginning to arrange the breakfast he brought. It consists entirely of coffee and an assorted 6-pack of donuts. In relative silence, we serve ourselves - even Rufus pours his own coffee, which, I’ll be quite honest, I wasn’t really expecting. Once we’ve all got a donut and a cup of caffeine at our seats, Tseng breaks the silence yet again.

“So, tell me, Lane,” he starts, “How long have you been active in the community?”

I know what that means - he’s asking me how long I’ve been going to kink events. I hesitate to answer, struggling to talk kink with these relative strangers.

“Well… ever since I moved to Midgar,” I say, “Three years, I guess.”

“Interesting,” Tseng says slowly, “What brought you into it?”

Gods, these are not easy questions to answer, especially with all these eyes on me. Rufus and Reno are smiling at me, happily awaiting my response.

“I’ve… Always been curious,” I admit, “Just hadn’t lived anywhere where things… happened. Midgar was my first chance.”

“Hm. And where did you say you were from, again?” 

_ Shit. _

“I… Don’t really like to talk about it,” I say, finally asserting a goddamn boundary. Not easy for me to do. Tseng’s face stays neutral, but he shifts, indicating that he’s accepted that answer for now.

“Top or bottom?” Reno asks suddenly, mumbled through a mouthful of donut. I blush.

“I… I-I’m a switch,” I admit, almost whispering. Too squeaky to be a whisper, honestly. 

Reno snorts.

“W-What?” I ask. 

“You’re a switch?” he repeats, “You’re acting like a sub,”   


“Reno,” Tseng says sternly, cutting him off with a sharp look. I furrow my brow at him. He doesn’t get to decide what I am or not just because of how I act at work. Reno rolls his eyes and looks away, pouting at being reprimanded by his… Boss? Lover? Dom? Gods, these guys have a complicated relationship pattern going on.

“Well… You’re  _ not _ acting like much of a sub,” I remark, “You’re… acting like a brat.”

Reno laughs loudly, letting his head roll back.

“Bingo!” he says with a grin.

“Reno’s a switch, actually,” Rufus says, cutting his way into the conversation with a smile, “As a matter of fact, I believe we all are, aren’t we?”

“It would seem so,” Tseng grins as he sips his coffee.

Now, that  _ is _ quite interesting. I file that info away - it’s sure to be useful later. 

“What are you  _ into _ , anyway, kid?” Reno asks, prying again. I blush and avert my eyes, sipping my coffee and trying not to cast a glare in his direction. Tseng sighs audibly.

“There’s more tactful ways to ask a question like that, Reno,” Tseng chides him, then turns back to me, “Although… I must admit, I’m curious myself. Is there anything in particular that you enjoy, Lane?”

I… Cannot answer this question out loud. I squirm, trying to find something to say that won’t get stuck in my throat.

“I… Guess I just like BDSM,” I squeak. I can’t believe I just said that out loud. In front of Rufus Shinra, no less, and his apparently kinky bodyguards. 

What the fuck has my life become?

“Anything particular within that scope?” Tseng presses, “Bondage? Impact?”

“I…” I’m not sure my face has ever been redder than it is right now, “Just… Yes? I like… all of it.”

Tseng smiles, trying to hold back a laugh at me. I have a feeling that he knows I’m lying again. Well… I guess I’m not lying. I’m just not telling the whole truth. There’s a difference.

“I bet you’re a voyeur,” Reno adds, “Takin’ pictures of naked people all the time,”

“I am not!” I proclaim in defense, “If anything, I’m more of an exhibitionist…”

“Oh?” Tseng’s ears perk up at that one, “An exhibitionist then? How come you don’t ever scene at the parties you attend?”

“Er… Well, I’m just… Not super compatible with anyone, you know?”

“There’s always house tops,” Tseng says, “I’m sure they’d all be happy to scene with you as long as you’re polite.”

“...Yeah… I just don’t really want to bother anybody,” I shift in my seat, “Besides, I’m usually taking pictures. Got a job to do first. I don’t need to use the time slots - I leave them open for others.”

“Don’t you have any partners, Lane?” Rufus chimes in. He makes it sound as though he was thinking that I did. 

“...No,” I say, less nervous about telling this truth in full, “I’m happy just to have my friends in the community. They’re all I really need.”

I see Tseng and Reno exchange glances. Something just went through their minds, and I wish I knew what it was. 

The conversation lulls right about there. Everyone is done with the donuts, and the coffees are down to the last sips.

“Are we ready to resume the shoot?” Rufus asks, tossing his cup toward the trash can, “I have one more outfit I’d like to change into.”

“I’m ready whenever you are,” I say, tossing my cup as well. I stand up and head back to the camera. Tseng and Reno hesitate in the seats, exchanging quiet words for a moment, before they both stand back up. Reno heads toward the doorway.

“Nice to meet you, Lane,” he says, “I’ll be seeing you around,” He gives a two-fingered salute off to the side, then saunters out the doors.

Tseng grabs the bag from the corner of the room and hands it to Rufus.

“Would you like us to give you some privacy, Sir?” he asks. 

“I don’t see a need for privacy…” Rufus replies, “But it would be fun for you to walk back in to my little surprise.”

For the first time, I see a light flush on Tseng’s cheeks. As he steps toward the doors, he beckons for me to follow him.

Together, we step into the studio offices. My coworkers’ desks make an awkward background to follow the conversation we just had. Tseng closes the door behind us.

“A few details,” He addresses me suddenly, “I’m going to direct you not to edit or view the photos until Monday. I’m arranging for you to be provided with a private computer for this project. It isn’t secure for you to open them on personal or company devices. And be aware that if this security measure happens to be breached, there will be severe consequences.”

I swallow. There’s that threat again. _ I’ve gotten the point, guys. _ The longer this goes on, the more I realize that I’m in really, really deep here. I might be in over my head.

“I understand,” I confirm quietly.

“And one more very important thing,” Tseng waits until I lift my chin up toward him again, “Are you familiar with the stoplight system?”

“As in… Safewords?” I ask. I know of a ‘stoplight system’ for safewords - Red means stop, yellow means slow or pause, and green means go.

“Exactly,” Tseng confirms with a nod, “It’s very important that you understand this, Lane. This is Rufus’s way of having fun. He’s very much enjoying your talent and your company, and he’s excited to do more. But he - all of us - recognize that the dynamics of power at play here are… imbalanced.”

I… think I understand what he’s saying. He continues.

“This is to say that all of us use the stoplight system in order to communicate our needs. And, so long as you are in this position, we wanted to make sure you knew that the use of these safewords also extends to you. You will be expected to respect them when they are used, and in turn, you are free to use them in absolutely any situation, sexual or otherwise. Your comfort is paramount to us, and we want you to put that first. Well… Second, behind privacy. But I’m sure you understand the point I’m trying to make.”

This conversation reads as though I’m being welcomed into a harem of play partners. Is… Is that what’s happening right now?

“Yes, I understand.”

“Excellent,” Tseng says with the tiniest of smiles at the corner of his lips, “I have to say, you seem like you’ll fit into this position quite nicely.”

I smile. I’m still not entirely sure whether he’s referring to the job, or… something more, but either way, I’m glad to hear that I seem to be doing well.

“Is photography something you want to make into a career, Lane?” 

“Definitely,” I answer, “Being a photographer for Shinra is pretty much my dream job - realistically, anyway,”

“Realistically?”

“I mean… My real dream would be to shoot boudoir full time, but that’s not exactly a very realistic focus. This truly is the next best thing. And… I mean… if-”

There’s a knock on the other side of the studio door.

“I’m ready,” Rufus calls. Tseng smiles and opens the door.

Rufus is already posed back on the backdrop when we walk in. He’s wearing some of the most beautiful fancy lingerie I’ve ever seen - and, having shot a lot of boudoir, I’ve seen a lot. It’s lilac in color, a delicate pale shade in the same color family as the deep purple silk robe. Sheer thigh-high stockings trail up his strong legs, held in place with a lace garter belt. He wears no underwear, but instead has on a delicate bralette, highlighting his defined pecs.

This was not what I was expecting, but it is indeed a wonderful surprise.

“Wow…” I say in awe, “You look incredible,”

“Thank you,” Rufus turns his face away, clearly pleased with the compliment. He glances at Tseng, and begins to quietly laugh. As I turn, I can see that Tseng’s cheeks are quite red. His gloved hand is over his mouth, concealing the lower half of his face. His expression is still stoic, but I can tell that he’s flustered. It’s the most undone that I’ve seen him yet.

I quickly pick up on the fact that Rufus wore this lingerie just for Tseng. As we resume the photo session, Rufus spends about half his time modeling for the camera and the other half jeering and teasing Tseng. I actually manage to get some semi-candid shots, when Rufus is smiling or laughing at him, that are just as endearing as they are sexy. This whole photo shoot is just a fucking gem.

But, as they do, all good things must come to an end. Rufus eventually starts to wear out, and he stretches out in pause once again.

“This has been just wonderful,” he says with a smile, “But there are some other things I need to get done today. I think we ought to call it here.”

As he steps off the backdrop, Tseng approaches him with the robe in hand. Instead of taking it though, Rufus pulls him into a deep, long kiss. Tseng makes no effort to pull away, instead leaning in, putting a hand around his lover’s waist. It’s beautiful and pure, so candid and natural… I can’t help myself. I snap a picture while I have a chance.

The shutter noise makes Tseng pull away. He gives me a pissed-off glare.

“Hey - no, absolutely not. What the hell did you-”

“Aw, I bet that was a great shot,” Rufus cuts him off.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologize genuinely, “I shouldn’t have taken that without asking. Here, I can delete it. You can watch me do it if you want,”

“Oh no, I want to see it,” Rufus whines, “If you felt moved enough to take it, it must’ve been a great photo. Besides,” He turns to Tseng, “It wouldn’t kill you to take pictures with me every once in a while. I know you dislike being in them, but I like having photos with you.”

Tseng’s face reddens again, and he ultimately sighs in defeat. He points a stern finger at me.

“No photos of me without explicit permission,” he states. I smile at him.

“Yes, Sir,” I confirm.


	9. Chapter 9

As Rufus pulls his robe back on, Tseng digs back into the bag he brought and extracts something. Before I can see what it is, he hands it to me. 

In my hands rests a small box. Upon opening it, I can see there are rows and rows of Gil coins. Altogether, there must be at least five thousand in this box. That’s an  _ obscene _ amount.

“What’s this for?” I ask in disbelief.

“That,” Tseng replies, closing the bag, “Is a confidentiality deposit. I imagine it will come in handy for you, for as long as you uphold our expectations of privacy.”

...Oh. This is the material piece of the threat. They give me a bunch of money, and then if I don’t keep my promise, they can weaponize it against me. Say I stole it or something, maybe, or ask for it back with interest and put me millions in debt.

I really would rather not find out.

“Speaking of,” Rufus adds, tying his robe closed, “Do I make out the check to Lane Elliott, or Aperture Photography?”

“Th-This is payment enough!” I insist. I can’t believe they think they’re going to give me more money than this. The box alone is nearly three times what I’d normally charge for a shoot. My rates were on the card, even. They know this. 

“Nonsense, you deserve to be paid fairly for your time,” Rufus says, “I’ll just make it out to Lane Elliott then, since you won’t decide,” 

Bastard. I refuse to let him pick for me.

“...Make it out to Aperture Photography,” I say, a new determination filling me. Rufus looks at me with a hint of surprise on his face, then grins.

“Reno was right,” he says with a chuckle, “You do have a little bit of feist in there.”

I blush. Reno said that? When?

“Well, I suppose we should let you go home,” Tseng says, moving things along, “Do you have reliable transportation?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, thanks,” I say. I’ll need to stay and reset the studio anyway.

“Lane,” Rufus comes up to me and takes my hands in his. They feel warm and soft, “Thank you for taking your time to do this today. I can’t wait to see the finished products.”

“Aw, thank you,” I gush, “I can’t wait, either. I’ll get started on them first thing Monday morning!”

“Excellent. Oh, I’m  _ so _ excited. Tseng, we’ll have to find a way to get prints for the walls.”

They turn and make their way to the doors. Rufus is still talking plans to display the photos as he heads out, and Tseng smiles at me as he leaves.

“Thank you, Lane,” he says, “I look forward to seeing you again.”

I smile back and give him a wave.

The studio isn’t hard to put back together - most of the work came this morning to set it up. I’m out of the Shinra building by noon, and on the train less than ten minutes later. Somewhere between the train station and home, I stop for lunch at a place I’ve been meaning to try. It’s a little on the pricier side, and so far I’ve been just managing to scrape by. With my newfound small fortune, I’ll be living far more comfortably. 

Back at home, I flop down on my bed and grab my camera. Tseng had specifically asked me not to view the photos until Monday. I figure he probably meant not to view them on a computer, but I don’t really want to risk it. For all I know, he bugged my camera or something. To avoid the temptation, I pull out the SD card and turn it around gently in my palm, gazing at it. In such a tiny object lies hundreds of photos that could very easily cause mayhem if they fell into the wrong hands. I feel like I should be guarding this thing with my life.

This all feels a bit like I’m dreaming. I begin to wonder when I’ll wake up. 

My mind drifts back to the moment I’d walked in on Rufus in that lingerie. He really did look absolutely beautiful in it. I can almost see the pictures in my mind… The way the lace laid so nicely on his form, the color in complement to his blue eyes and blond hair. The dark background to draw the eye to the pastels… It sure felt like a dream. 

And you know what? Despite what I have heard resoundingly from anyone who’s ever interacted with him, Rufus Shinra is not a dick. In fact, he’s really quite sweet, if he decides that he likes you.

I can’t stop thinking about the feel of his hands on mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go - some actual stuff with a little bit of spice. Short chapter, but trust me, it'll get a lot spicier as we go.
> 
> If you stuck around to read this, thank you, thank you, thank you. You're awesome, and I hope you enjoyed!


	10. Chapter 10

The rest of the weekend is a total blur, and before I know it, I’m back on the train Monday morning. When I walk into the office, SD card carefully buried in my camera bag, everyone stops what they’re doing and stares at me. 

I walk quietly to my cubicle, and there on my desk is a new laptop - just like Tseng had promised. A note stuck to the top of it reads:

“For the VP’s project request. Please take care of this computer - it’s on loan.”

It’s not signed, but I already know who it’s from. I go to set down my bag, eager to get started editing those photos, but before I can even sit down, Marjorie is at my doorway.

“Lane, good morning! Can you come with me, please? We’ve got some business to attend to!”

She sounds really happy, and it’s reassuring. Last week had been a panic-fest, but this week, I was already walking in feeling much more confident. Marjorie and I make our way to her office, where she shuts the door. She shuffles around in her desk for a moment, and then pulls out a few forms and a ring of keys.

“Someone stopped by today from the General Affairs department and told me all about what you’ve been up to, Lane,” Cue my heart leaping into my throat, until she continues, “He said the VP was so impressed with your performance last week that he wanted to hire you on the spot. So they took care of things with HR and-”

Marjorie slaps the form out on the table.

“Congratulations, Lane,” she smiles widely, “You’re officially hired!”

I can hardly believe I’m doing this. I take a pen and begin filling in the employee file form - not dissimilar from one that I completed at the beginning of my internship. As I write, Marjorie yammers on.

“I’m amazed with you, Lane. You’ve always shown such incredible drive, not to mention your talent, and I’m just so proud of you for representing our department in such a strong way. Did the VP tell you what sorts of things you’ll be doing in your new position?”

“Um… I… Don’t think I’m supposed to share that info with anyone just yet,”

“Ah, that’s right,” Marjorie nods solemnly, “The gentleman who stopped by this morning did say that the projects were classified. Highly confidential, he said,”

“Gentleman?” I ask, “Did he happen to have long black hair?”

“He sure did! He dropped off that laptop for you on your desk - I’m sure you saw it already. Anyway, you’ll probably want to grab it and bring it with you - new position means a new office for you, kiddo! Here’s your set of keys - Follow me to your new home sweet home!”

Marjorie leads me off to the other end of the PR floor, away from the studio offices and into the bullpen. Marjorie’s actual office is down here, and it looks like I’ll be moving in a few doors down from her. 

“Here we are!” She opens the door to a corner office (corner office - seriously? Damn, Tseng must’ve pulled some punches on this one). We step inside. The space is pretty big for an office, and I expect it to be unfurnished, but to my surprise, it’s quite the opposite. There’s a wide leather futon against one wall, two matching chairs facing the desk, and a very nice-looking executive chair behind it. A company standard-issue desktop computer is already arranged on the surface of the L-shaped desk, and a fancy modern lamp stands in the corner. On the walls are some empty frames, and I’m close enough to one of them to read a note stuck in the corner - “For your favorites,” in Tseng’s neat handwriting.

“Wow,” Marjorie obviously hadn’t come and looked in here earlier, and she seems just as stunned as I am, “This is nicer than my office. I guess working with the VP has some great perks, huh?”

I’m a little afraid that she’s jealous, but if she is, she hides it well.

“Yeah… I wasn’t expecting anything like this. Are you sure I should take this space? Maybe you can move in here and I can take your old office or something.”

“The, uh… gentleman who spoke with me specified that you should keep this one,” she says sheepishly, “I have a feeling that he knew you’d react this way. You’ll have to take it up with him, I guess.”

Take it up with Tseng? No thank you. I’ll accept my lavish fate.

“Well, I do need to get back to work,” Marjorie says, “But feel free to get your stuff moved over! There’s some empty boxes in the supply closet in the hall that you can use. Congrats again!”

I wave goodbye to her and thank her for helping me out, but I don’t follow her out the door right away. Instead, I take in my new space, stepping behind the desk and having a seat in the chair. It’s plush as hell and very comfy, but firm enough to support me as I sit. I wheel it over to the window, marvelling at the view I’ve been given. Even though I’m still only on the 16th floor, I can see right down to the cafe balcony below, where several employees are milling about, having meetings or grabbing a last-minute breakfast. In the distance, the Sector 5 plate stretches out before me, and I have a brilliant view of the mako reactor at the plate edge. I imagine that in the winter, when it gets dark before I leave, it will look stunning from here.

It’s beautiful.

It’s… almost too much. 

But I don’t have time to dawdle - I did tell Rufus that I’d start on his photos first thing. I better get moved over as soon as I can. 

For as hard as I try to do that, however, it isn’t as easy as it sounds. I have quite a few things to bring over from my little cubicle, and it takes a few trips. The atmospheres between the two wings of this floor are stark in contrast. On the studio offices side, nobody says a word to me - not even Jenny as we pass by one another. But I keep getting stopped by folks on the PR side, introducing themselves and commenting that “You must be the new employee in the corner office!” Despite the fact that I’ve suddenly overtaken most of them in terms of apparent seniority, none of them seem bothered by that fact. Even after I get fully settled in, folks keep stopping by to say hello, and I find no opportunity to get my new laptop open. By the time I do finally find a moment of peace, my stomach growls loudly. It’s time for lunch, and I decide to put off starting the editing until after I can fuel up.

I make my trip down to the cafe and grab some food, taking it out to the cafe balcony to eat in the nice weather. I gaze up at the building, trying to see if I can tell which office window is mine. I think I can see it… right on the end, on the fourteenth row from here. I think that’s the one.

When I return to my new office, I am glad to finally get that new laptop opened. Immediately, I can tell that it’s far different from a company laptop. It’s sleeker and seems to be more cutting-edge in terms of the technology. A variety of photo editing programs are installed, and I notice that the device isn’t connected to the building’s wireless network - it’s on some kind of unlisted private network. Weird. Probably a security feature to prevent hacking, I guess.

I’m reaching for my camera bag and have just extracted the SD card when the new computer dings with an alert sound. An email, and according to the notification, it’s from Tseng. I click on it. The company email app seems to be integrated into this system - it opens in its own window rather than in a browser. The inbox is typical as ever, exactly how I’d left it on Friday - now with the unread message. I open it.

_ “Lane -  _

_ Good afternoon. I hope you’re enjoying the new office. The Vice President selected it just for you - it’s been inspected to ensure that our rigorous standards of privacy are met. Provided that you liberally employ the door lock, of course.  _

_ A reminder to you - the new computer that was on your desk this morning is on loan. It is meant for use only within your new office, and will automatically lock if it is removed from the building. Please do not try to connect to any other networks than the current one. If you have any issues with connectivity, please contact me. My phone number is attached - it might be wise to create a contact ASAP.  _

_ Please let me know if you need anything from me to help you be successful in your work.  _

_ Tseng _

_ Director, Administrative Research _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

It takes me a minute to process everything I read, one thing at a time. After I get through the first paragraph for the third time, I realize that the door is unlocked right now, and I get up right away to make sure it’s shut tightly. Returning to my desk, I glance down at the piece of technology that’s apparently going to live here forever now. It locks down if I remove it from the building? Wow, they really are taking this seriously. Makes enough sense, but still. And finally, I wave my cursor over Tseng’s email icon. It’s blank, including no photo like most employees’ profiles. Clicking on it restates his name and includes a phone number, which I quickly add to my phone’s contact list.

Then the closing. Do I need anything? Well, no, but I should probably thank him and confirm that I got the message.

_ “Tseng -  _

_ Thank you for helping get all of this arranged. I have to admit, as much as I’m excited to be taking on this position, I was pretty stunned with the size of this office. This really wasn’t necessary. _

_ I’ll heed your instructions carefully regarding the privacy practices and computer. There’s nothing I need right now - I’m just getting started on editing the photos, and will be sending proofs to the Vice President as soon as I can! _

_ Thanks, _

_ Lane Elliott _

_ Photographer, PR _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

As I’m getting the SD card clicked into the computer’s reader slot, I get another message.

_ “Lane -  _

_ The new office was absolutely necessary. The cubicle you were in was not up to the required privacy standard. Furthermore, Rufus was insistent upon the particular selected office space. Let’s just say there are some alternative motivations for his choice beyond privacy - best not to question it at this time. _

_ Glad to hear you’re getting settled in. Feel free to reach out at any time.  _

_ Tseng _

_ Director, Administrative Research _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

The contents of that particular email stun me for a moment. “Alternative motivations?” What the hell did that mean?

Well… Best not to question it at this time, I guess. I let it fall from my mind, getting distracted by another curiosity in the email. Tseng’s email signature states that his job title is “Director of Administrative Research.” I haven’t ever heard of the Administrative Research department - what is that? Doesn’t exactly seem like a title a bodyguard would have.

Maybe he isn’t a bodyguard after all. But then what does he do?

I get distracted again, however, as my editing program finally loads and opens. The photos from the SD card begin to upload to the system, and I’m washed over with memories from our weekend session. Rufus’s elegant, strong form graces my screen, and I begin paging through the raw shots. They’re dazzling already - minimal editing will be required. Rufus is already perfectly picturesque. My first runthrough means picking out my very favorite shots, and it’s one of my favorite parts. It’s also one of the hardest - trying to decide exactly which similar shots to use or let go. I have to do my best to pare them down, especially since the screen declares that I took 648 pictures on Saturday. Good gods, that’s a lot. But, then, it was a long shoot. 

The rest of my week is split between editing all the beautiful photos and learning the ropes of my new department. Just because my new direct supervisor is with another department doesn’t mean I get to skip the PR team’s routines. I’m introduced at the Tuesday morning meeting to another new batch of coworkers, and Marjorie takes the time to give me a tour of the Floor 17 PR space, where videography mostly takes place. I earn myself a spot in the office fridge and a key to the storage closets, plus a dedicated studio key. Most importantly, my own personal building key is included on my keychain, meaning I am now at liberty to come into the building during off-hours. I have a feeling that will be needed. 

On Thursday morning, Marjorie catches me in the break room, grabbing a cup of coffee. She asks me how things are going, and we make small talk while my coffee brews.

“Say, I wanted to ask you something,” she says casually, “That gentleman with the long black hair swung by the studio offices yesterday. He asked to borrow a camera on behalf of his department and asked some questions about recording equipment. You wouldn’t happen to know what it might be getting used for, do you?”

I furrow my brow, baffled. Sounds like Tseng… but he didn’t tell me anything about it. Why didn’t he just come ask me those questions?

“No, I have no idea,” I say in truth, “That’s pretty odd, though. I wonder if it’s something for a project I might get placed on. Apparently the guy is with the ‘Administrative Research’ department - do you have any idea what that is?”

“I don’t have a clue,” Marjorie answers, her brow creasing now too, “I thought you would know. That’s really strange - I’ve worked here for fifteen years, but I’ve never even heard of that department.”

“Huh… Guess it’s just… classified,” I conclude, pouring myself a mug.

“What sorts of projects are you working on this week, Lane?” Marjorie asks politely, trying to maintain the conversation.

“Um… I think that’s classified too, actually,” I answer lowly, “I was told that privacy was the priority, so I don’t think I’m allowed to share,”

“Oh,” she sounds a little disappointed, “Well, whatever you’re up to, I hope it’s going well!”

“Thanks - see you around!” I say as I start back toward my desk.

As I sip at my coffee, I let that conversation roll around in my head. How could an entire department be totally classified, to the point where senior employees don’t even know about it? That just seems so off to me. 

I set down my coffee and turn on my company desktop computer. When it opens, I bring up the staff database and type in the search bar - “Tseng.”

_ No results _ .

Huh?

I try another tactic - “Reno.”

_ No results. _

“Rufus Shinra?”

This time, I’m rewarded with the VP’s company profile. He’s not an employee, so it looks different from what would normally be up here. Most of the usual employee info, like office number and contact info, is missing entirely. Just a long, eloquent bio on his page, along with a nice headshot from whenever the last round was taken. 

Just to make sure things aren’t just broken, I look up my own name - “Lane Elliott.”

My profile appears, now listing me as a photographer in the PR department, rather than an intern. All the info is here from the form that Marjorie had me fill out - contact info, office number, and more. My intern badge headshot is the photo on the page - nothing to write home about. I recall that Jenny took it. 

All this means the system is working, then. Even though I don’t have Tseng or Reno’s full names, just the bits I have should still yield search results. 

So they’ve been deliberately excluded from the database.

I type in “PR.” Instantly, the profiles of all the PR employees appear in alphabetical order. So, in that case… I type in “Administrative Research.”

_ No results. _

Oh, come ON. 

I try the web browser. I look up “Shinra Administrative Research department.” No relevant results - everything that appears isn’t what I’m looking for; it’s mostly about the administrative department in general. 

Sigh. Fine, you win. I give up. 

Out of curiosity and convenience, I decide to look up “Rufus Shinra” and see what comes up. Most of the results are tabloids - he seems to be a popular subject. “The Most Eligible Bachelor in Midgar,” one proclaims in its title article. “Single in Secret?” another asks. So, despite clearly (in my experience) having at least one lover, the tabloids haven’t seemed to pick up on that yet. Yep, Rufus clearly values his privacy. And looking at these crazy headlines and paparazzi shots, I can see why. No wonder the man hates having his photo taken - it happens a hundred times every time he steps outside. 

Ugh, okay, speaking of, I still have photos to edit. I put my nose back to the grindstone, shutting down the desktop and returning to the secure laptop.

By lunchtime on Friday, I have all my proofs ready to go to Rufus for approval and edits. I send them out when I get back from my meal, and busy myself with a little more fruitless research attempts while I wait for a response.

_ Ding. _

_ “Lane, these are absolutely beautiful. I adore them, and I have no further edits for you. Thank you for your care and diligence with this project. _

_ There’s no need to delete the images from the secure laptop, but please lock them in an encrypted file before you leave for the day. I look forward to doing this again very soon - I’m already considering new ideas for shoots. _

_ Have a wonderful weekend. _

_ Rufus” _

His praise makes me blush. I quickly get to work following his instruction to lock the photos up securely before shutting down the laptop, and I’m pleased to have a chance to walk out of work a couple hours early today. On the train ride home, I find myself fantasizing about future shoots myself. My mind drifts to a body painting shoot… Oh shit, or what about a  _ painting with the body  _ shoot? A wide canvas, paint brushed in thick strokes across his form, for him to sit or lay and leave marks of all his best features…

I’m lost in it by the time I get home.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: BDSM party, BDSM negotiation, spanking, aftercare, mention of mouthsoaping

It’s Friday evening. Which means it is time for my favorite weekly ritual. 

The black dress shirt, the gray slacks, and black mask and flat cap. Camera bag slung over my shoulder, and a somewhat heartier meal than last week before hopping on the train.

Aperture is alive, and they are ready to roll.

Spicier greets me, SD card is in place, and I scan around for pink bracelets. This is my passion, my job, and I adore every single second of it. 

It’s a few hours in when I pause to watch a scene. An impact session in the corner - a young lady approached one of the house tops for the evening, and the show they put on is spectacular. She’s very vocal, yipping and gasping as he lays into her with a short, handheld paddle. She doesn’t have a bracelet on, so I keep my camera pointed away and watch with rapt interest.

I can vaguely hear Tseng’s voice in the back of my head -  _ “How come you don’t ever scene at the parties you attend?” _

For a moment there, I almost consider it. Maybe not with that particular top, but perhaps there’s someone here tonight that I could find the courage to ask. Someone I know a bit better. The double-edged sword of photography is that it’s my job to be inconspicuous and blend in, which means I don’t often get a good chance to socialize at these things. When I do, the night is wrapping up and most folks are gone, except for Spicier and the other group leaders, who I do know well already. But as far as I can tell, none of them are topping tonight. 

I resolve to keep looking, but the resolve fades as another scene begins in the center of the room. Bracelets ahoy - I head over and get back into my photo groove. 

I am pulled out of it later by a tap on my shoulder. I stand and turn, jumping in shock when I realize who I’m looking at. 

“Aperture, right?” he says in that velvet tone, “Shion. We met last week.”

Tseng.

What’s he doing here? I thought he said last week that he doesn’t usually make it to the Friday parties - sporadic schedule. Why is he here now? I barely even manage to greet him.

“...Hi.”

“How’s the photography tonight?” he asks, making small talk. I feel sweat drip down my back.

“Oh, it’s… uh, good,” I say, “Lots of good scenes tonight.”

“Indeed,” he agrees, turning his face up to survey the sights happening around the room. It’s always busy and bustling in here, but right now, my world is down to just the two of us. 

“I’ve been wondering… Do these photos get edited at all? Do you do that?” he inquires.

“They do get edited, but I don’t edit them. Spicier does, actually - it’s his SD card. He gives it to me at the beginning of the night, and I give it back at the end. More secure that way,”

“Hm,” Tseng - Shion - nods in understanding, then turns rather suddenly. I see that he’s been tapped on the shoulder himself - two women in black and gold dresses are giggling to each other and speak to him.

“Shion, we heard you were house topping,” one of them says, “And… We were wondering if you’d be willing to scene with us tonight?”

“Yeah, please?” the other tacks on. They seem a little overenthusiastic to me, but hey, they’ve got more courage than I do. House topping tonight, huh? I assume that means that Reno isn’t here.

“That would be fine, ladies,” Tseng says, “But I won’t be available until later this evening. Why don’t you check back in an hour or so? I’ll save you a spot on my schedule.”

The girls squeal to themselves and flitter about, thanking him before disappearing back into the crowd. They’re acting like schoolgirls with a crush - Is Tseng really that in-demand here?

“Speaking of,” he says, turning back to me and standing up straight, “I was about to ask you the same question.”

“Huh?”

“I have some time available right now, and I was wondering if you would be interested in scening with me, Aperture.”

I think my brain might explode. I feel hot blush rise into my face, and I can’t get words out - just stuttered filler. 

He laughs softly at me.

“There’s no pressure,” he says, beginning to turn, “We can save it for another time, if you’re not feeling up to it tonight. Just thought I’d offer,” He moves to step away from me.

It’s now or never. If I let him walk away, I might never get another chance.

I reach out and grab his arm.

“I-I want to,” I stutter, “But… I want to negotiate first,” There I go again, establishing a boundary. That’s a pretty big achievement on my end.

Tseng chuckles.

“I wouldn’t dream of scening without a negotiation,” he says. Before I can react, his arm slides halfway from my grip and twists, switching our positions - now he’s got a firm grip on my wrist instead.

“Come,” he tells me, “Let’s go talk in the quiet corner.”

He leads me away, gloved hand still firmly on my wrist. I feel like a child getting led around, struggling to keep up with his long-legged strides. When we arrive at the couches in the quiet corner, he releases me, and we sit next to each other on a long sectional.

“Well,” he says, leaning back and getting comfortable, “Let’s start with the basics. Did you have anything to eat and drink before you came here?”

“Yes,” I answer, trying to convey the truth with confidence to avoid a repeat of last week, “I had some sushi and a bottle of water on the way.”

“Good,” he grins, “How about your general mood - did you have a good day? Didn’t overwork yourself?”

“I had a great day,” I say with a smile, confidence suddenly welling up within me. Where is that coming from?

“Glad to hear it,” he says, leaning forward, “And one last thing. As we’ve discussed, we’ll use the stoplight system for safewords. As always, you’re welcome to use them at any time. Because I’m not familiar with your thresholds yet, I’m going to depend on you using them tonight so I know when to slow down or stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I say with a happy nod.

“So then, onto the meat of this - What kind of scene will we be getting ourselves into tonight?”

My confidence pops like a balloon, withering pathetically to the floor. I don’t have a good answer for him.

“I recall you mentioning you have some exhibitionistic tendencies,” he says, “So something where plenty of people will get to watch. BDSM is a wide topic, you know - Are you in the mood for anything specific tonight?”

At this question, my mind immediately jumps to somewhere completely unprecedented. I’m struck with a sudden visual of myself, tossed over the lap of this handsome dominant, getting a lecture and a spanking for misbehaving. It causes my face to flush again.

No way in hell am I ever going to admit that out loud. 

“... I don’t know,” I squeak.

“I’m comfortable with just about anything under that umbrella,” he states, “Sensation play, flogging, spanking… Any of that strike your fancy?”

Internally, I struggle. Spanking is on the table…

If I don’t ask for what I want, I’ll never get it. I dig deep for one last well of courage.

“Spanking sounds… good,” I awkwardly stammer. 

“Spanking, huh?” Tseng leans forward and locks his eyes with mine, “That sounds like a lot of fun - domestic discipline is something of a specialty of mine, actually.”

For the first time, a rush of air gasps out of me before I can stop it. I’m starting to lose my cool, and Tseng can read it on my face. He begins to pick me apart rapidly.

“Oh, seems like that has you fairly excited,” he smirks, baring his teeth, “I’ll bet you’d like me to give you a lecture and a proper spanking - over my knee, bottom bared for my hand,” He’s inching closer and closer to me, and I feel myself back up as far as I can against the cushion. I feel like a mouse in a trap, and I cover my mouth with my hand in a lame attempt to hide.

“Do you have any objections to that?” He asks, his tone softening slightly, “Or is that what you’d like to do for our scene?”

“It’s… perfect,” I whisper, barely able to get the words out. He smiles widely, obviously pleased with how well he read me.

“Good,” he says, “Then, before we begin, is there anything else that we need to take care of? Perhaps we need to find a safe spot to stash your camera?”

“Oh, yeah,” I look down at the device in my lap, and carefully remove the neck strap, “I left the camera bag with Spicier. He’ll be willing to look after it - I know it’ll be safe with him.”

“Excellent,” Tseng says, standing up, “Then let’s go.”

He waits for me to stand up and start to gingerly walk toward the bar where Spicier and his friends hang out. I must be moving too slowly for him though, because he puts both hands on my shoulders and pushes me along until we arrive at the group.

“Good evening,” he says, sounding perfectly confident and professional, “We were wondering if you’d be willing to keep an eye on Aperture’s camera for a while. They’ll need somewhere safe to keep it while we scene.”

“Aperture!” Spicier smiles and gives me an excited look, “Look at you! Totally, dudes - here,” Spicier produces the camera bag from behind him, holding it out so I can stuff the camera inside and zip it shut, “I’m so glad you’re finally going for it, Aperture! I don’t think you’ve scened at all since you started taking pics for us - go have fun! I’ll watch your camera.”

“Th-Thanks,” I stutter as the whole group jeers at me in support, cheering me on from the sidelines as Tseng leads me away again toward the corner of the room that’s decked out with impact furniture.

There’s a lot of fancy stuff back in this corner - a spanking bench, a cross, and rope hard point - But the thing that Tseng reaches for is a simple, straight-backed chair. He sets it up right in the middle of the space, facing the crowd of people who have started to gather, and pulls off his leather gloves before he sits down.

“Alright,” he says, “Are you ready?”

Standing in front of him, blushing redder than a tomato, I feel totally exposed.

“...Yes,” I finally squeak.

“That’s ‘Yes, Sir,’ from now on,” he says sternly, the warmth on his face suddenly turning to ice, “Come here.”

I feel frozen by his gaze, but somehow manage to scoot my way over to the spot he’s indicating, right in front of him. I look down into his amber eyes, surrounded with the dark of the mask, as they cut straight through me. Am I shaking?

“Do you know why you’re getting a spanking today?” he asks me.

“Because…” I hesitate, “...Because that’s what we agreed to do?”

I can hear members of the crowd behind me laugh. Even Tseng lets a smirk cross his lips.

“Well, yes, that’s part of the reason,” he says, returning to seriousness, “But this isn’t going to be all fun and games for you, Aperture.”

He wipes the smile off my face as he reaches to my midsection, deftly undoing the button and zipper on my slacks.

“I don’t believe you’ve been very honest and forthcoming with me or my partners,” he growls, “And I intend to punish you for lying to me.”

_ Fuck _ \- that’s right. I’d lied to him last week about my business card. Emotions and excitement roil inside me like a stormy sea. I can feel the waves crashing in my lungs, brought to a sudden and screeching halt as his hands grip either side of my waistband.

In a single sharp tug, my pants are suddenly around my knees. On instinct, I reach down to cover myself.

“Hands behind your head,” he orders. His tone is so commanding that I follow his instruction promptly, lacing my fingers together at the band of my cap. As I move, so does he, finding the waistband of my underwear below my shirt hem and yanking those down too.

I’m pretty sure this is the most naked I’ve been in public in months. I can already feel how much that simple fact has me dripping wet, but I’m quickly distracted as Tseng’s hands grab me again. One of them snags my elbow, and the other wraps around my back and waist, and with the leverage the grip provides, he smoothly throws me down over his lap, presenting me for him. My fingers unlace, and I find a grip on the legs of the chair for stability. 

A hand caresses my ass, and I gasp at the surprising touch. With no way to see what’s going on up there, I’m resigned to spend the entire scene gasping at surprises. 

“I know you haven’t just lied to  _ me _ , either,” he says, giving a few gentle pats. I can feel everything jiggle as he plays with me, “You’ve been dishonest with one of my partners as well. And I believe you haven’t been very forthcoming with the full truth either, most of the time. You’re happy to just leave things vague...”

_ Smack _ . A sharp hit claps down out of nowhere, and I throw my head back and yelp.

“...But as far as I’m concerned, omitting the truth is just as bad as a full-on lie,”

_ Smack _ . Another hit, on the other side this time. I gasp and wince hard. Fuck, that stings so  _ bad. _

“And I don’t tolerate liars, Aperture. If I catch anyone lying to me, then I make sure they understand  _ exactly _ what they’ve done wrong.”

The spanks start to pick up in speed as he lectures. The values of honesty trail in and out of my ears as my existence focuses into the throbbing pain on my backside. Every once in a while, if he thinks I didn’t hear him, he’ll give me an extra smack on my thighs, and those hits hurt like a  _ son of a bitch _ . He keeps going, and eventually his rhythm steadies at a quick but tolerable pace. I can’t stop all the noise coming out of me - shouts and yips and yelps, gasps and hiccups. All of it comes out in an attempt to bite back the moans I want to let go.

_ Not yet, Lane, not now - please. _

“You know,” Tseng says after a bit, continuing to spank me as he speaks, “I’m beginning to think that just one punishment won’t be enough for you, will it?”

I have no answer for him - just gasps and jumps. His statement does make me zero in on his words, however - the implication of that sentiment is clear: _ “Let’s do this again sometime.” _

“Oh yes, you’ll definitely need some maintenance,” he continues, monologuing as I fight to keep still, “I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeve to straighten out liars like you. I’m happy to make my subs write lines or letters of apology,” I squeeze my eyes shut, holding my breath to hold back that moan now.  _ I can’t let him know I’m into that kind of thing _ . It would spell disaster at work.

He continues.

“Or maybe I’ll teach you not to lie with a good old-fashioned mouthsoaping,”

_ Oh no. _

The held breath bursts from deep within me and I gasp back in, broken by this threat instantly into a begging, pleading mess.

“ _ Noooo, oh no, pleeeease…” _ I moan, no longer in control of my own mouth. 

The spanking stops suddenly, and in its place, I feel a hand grip my hair. Fuck, when did my cap fall off? He yanks upward, forcing me to lift my head to full attention.

“Oh, now  _ that _ was an interesting reaction,” he purrs. I glance back to see him grinning - he’s about to pour my deepest secret all over the floor, and I know he knows that. I’m sure he can see the lust-drunk panic in my eyes.

“Alright, Aperture,” he says, giving my head a light shake, “You want to earn my forgiveness? Here’s your chance. I want the full, honest truth.”

I hold my breath.

“Do you like getting your mouth washed out with soap?”

It’s spoken in a soft growl, a knowing tone. I know he knows the answer already, but I do everything in my power to hold on to the last breath, holding back my last shreds of pride and dignity. 

It is not enough.

“ _ Yes! _ ” I cry, repeating the word countless times and moaning loudly at the sheer idea. My fetish, my deepest, strangest fantasy, on display in front of dozens and dozens of people. Including the man who is functionally my boss, who I know for a fact will use this against me.

Tseng releases my hair, and my head falls limply back toward the floor. I can feel tears pooling in my eyes, blurring my vision, as he gently strokes my ass, running his hands over the spots that still burn and sting. 

“Good job,” he praises softly, then his tone firms up to seriousness, “How are you feeling? Are you ready to be done?”

“...Y-yeah,” I huff, still trying to get a handle back on my breathing. I feel him shift beneath me, his hands reaching toward mine to help me find the stability to stand. As soon as I’m up, he reaches down and pulls my underwear halfway up, letting me take over and get them situated. We copy the same steps to pull up my pants, and he places a hand on my shoulder as we walk back to the quiet corner couches.

I make the mistake of trying to sit, and hiss through my teeth as my sore ass collides with the couch cushion. I pop back up, and Tseng sits on the couch as he watches me.

“Here,” He pulls the cushion I sat on right off the couch and tosses it to the floor at his feet, “It might be more comfortable for you to kneel on that instead.”

I take his advice, kneeling down on the cushion and savoring the lack of pain that the position affords me. 

Out of nowhere, Tseng suddenly produces my cap in his hands. Before I can find the strength to grab it, he pulls it back over my hair himself, making sure to adjust it so it isn’t too low over my eyes. I look up at him, still trying to decide if this is all a dream or not.

“How do you feel?” he asks me.

“‘M good,” I mumble in response, resting my cheek against the couch. He lets me recover in quiet for a moment, then turns to me again.

“Aperture,” he commands my attention and seriousness, “Do you really like having your mouth washed out with soap?”

I blush hard again, and bury my face in the couch cushion. Well, there’s no use hiding it. I’m not about to lie to him again after all that.

“...Yes,” I admit, “It’s… kind of like my main thing. S-soap in general, I mean…”

Tseng chuckles, which makes me blush harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I promise,” he says, laying a hand on my head, “It’s just a bit of a funny coincidence. I happen to be very close to someone else with that exact same fetish.”

My eyes widen and I gaze up at him in disbelief.

“You’re kidding,” I say. No, he has to be. I genuinely don’t believe him.

“I’m certainly not,” he says, giving me a pointed look, “I’ll have to make it a point to introduce the two of you sometime soon. You’d both get along so nicely.”

It takes me a few minutes to fully parse that. He’s… actually telling the truth, isn’t he? I try to dissect his words - was he actually referring to  _ me _ in some roundabout way? No, that’s not it. I suddenly wonder if it might be Rufus or Reno that he was referring to - I guess time would tell. But he made it sound like I haven’t met this person yet.

Wow. And here I thought I was alone. Not only is that not true, but someone just like me is a lot closer than I ever could’ve imagined. 

“So,” Tseng says, checking his watch, “Are you doing okay? Anything you’d like me to get you?”

“No, I’m good, thanks,” I say.

“Okay. I must say, that’s one of the most fun scenes I’ve done in a long while. I wasn’t kidding - I’d love to do this again, if you’re ever feeling up to it.”

“That sounds great,” I smile up at him, “It was really fun.”

“Glad to hear it. Now, I do have some other scene appointments tonight that I should honor,” He stands up and extracts his gloves from his pocket, pulling them back on, “I’d like you to get some water while you’re up at the bar. Keep in touch with your headspace tonight, don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Mm-hm,” I nod quietly, not actually processing any of his advice.

“And Aperture?” He turns back toward me, “If you need me for any reason, you know how to get ahold of me. I’ll be available to you any time - don’t hesitate to reach out, alright?”

“O-okay,” I say, watching him go. When he’s halfway across the floor, those two girls run up to him again and, judging by the way they bounce and squeal, he agrees to scene with them. The trio walks off to another corner.

...What do I do now? I haven’t scened in so long, I’ve forgotten what comes after aftercare. My mind still feels foggy and blurred.

My camera. Yeah, I need to get back to the photos. People will be upset if I don’t get enough shots.

I somehow manage to get back on my feet and put the couch cushion back where it belongs, then stagger over to the bar. The bartender kindly pours me a glass of water, and I stand as I sip on it. I don’t sip very long, leaving more than two-thirds of the glass on the bartop before I make my way back over to Spicier.

“Hey… Can I grab the camera?” I ask him, pointing to where I can see it on the floor.

“Are you sure you’re good?” Spicier asks me, raising an eyebrow, “You still look kinda shook up. That was an awesome scene, but pretty intense - Shion didn’t push your boundaries, did he? Did you get enough aftercare?”

“Oh, no, it was…” I hesitate, unable to keep myself from smiling, “It was really awesome. I’m good now, it’s just been a while. But I need to get back to shooting.”

“Why the rush?” Hera asks, ever the mom-type, “There’s no time limit on the pictures. You should rest a little longer. Maybe you should have some more water to drink.”

“But-”

“Aperture,” Spicier cuts me off and gives me probably the most serious look I’ve ever seen from him, “We appreciate your photography skills, but you have to remember that it’s a donation of your time and talent. It isn’t an obligation. More than anything, I want everyone here to have a good time. If you want to scene and have fun, then you’re always welcome to do that. I’ll always hold the camera for you, no questions asked. This isn’t your job - don’t treat it like one.”

“You’re also allowed to come to events and just  _ not _ take photos, you know,” Hera adds, “In fact, I know you’re glad to be here, but it’s getting pretty late already anyway. Don’t take this the wrong way - I’m not kicking you out! - but maybe you should take the rest of the night to recover? You might think about heading home.”

I lower my head, considering that possibility. I really don’t want to leave - especially while Tseng is here - but I also don’t want to crash on the couch here either. Regardless, it doesn’t seem like I’m going to get the camera back tonight. I don’t want to admit it, but they’re right - I don’t have the strength to do my best right now. 

Reluctantly, I nod.

“Here,” Spicier picks up the camera bag, carefully removes my camera, and pops out the SD card, “You still got a lot of good pics tonight, right? I can’t wait to see them!” He zips the bag back up and hands it to me, “Now go home and rest up. There’s always next week, but you gotta take care of yourself tonight first.”

“Thanks, guys,” I say genuinely, “I appreciate that you’re always looking out for me,”

“Anytime, kiddo,” Hera smiles, and extends her arms for a hug. I take her up on her offer.

“Oh, also,” I say, “If Ts- uh, Shion asks where I went, will you just let him know that I went home? And that I’m fine, I just… need to rest.”

“Of course, hun,” Hera smiles warmly, “You gonna be okay getting home on your own?”

“Yep,” I grin, slinging the camera bag back over my shoulder. I give the group a wave as I walk toward the exit. I’m not sure where Tseng and those girls went… Too bad, I’d hoped to let him know myself that I’m heading home. As I step out the door, I remember that I do still have his phone number.

I pull my phone from my pocket and send him a quick text.

_ “Thanks again for tonight. I got really tired, so I’m headed home. Hope I see you again soon.” _

It’s a long walk to the train station, but somehow, I feel like I can do it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, poor poor Lane. Tseng is gonna have way too much fun with this.
> 
> I'm not sure if I mentioned, but this fic makes several references to another fic I wrote, "Appointments at the Sink." This can easily be read standalone, but there is a connection between the two of these works. Feel free to check it out!
> 
> Also, a small update - now that I've got some of the tags filled with lewd things on this fic, I'm going to start slowing down my posting. Right now, I plan to post one or two chapters a week, every Saturday. So look forward to posts on those days!
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who's read, commented, bookmarked, kudo'd, and subscribed so far! You guys mean the world to me - I expected almost no readership on this, and I'm blown away by the response. There's a lot more where this came from - subscribe or bookmark for updates!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Subdrop

The sunrise is what wakes me up the next morning. Fuck… What happened? I hardly even remember getting home from-

Oh. Wait. Holy shit, that’s right.

I roll over to sit up, and a warm pain radiates through my ass into the rest of my body. I groan as the memories rush back over me, and I bury my face in my hands.

I confessed my fetish. Out loud. To everyone.

_ Including my new boss. _

In response to this realization, I promptly roll back over and cower under my covers for another hour. I try to see if sleep will return, but it does not.

I can count on one hand the number of people who knew about that before last night. I’ve been so careful to guard it, and it only took one fucking sentence in that sexy growly voice to undo years of my carefully planned hiding. 

Spicier and the group leaders didn’t even know. Like, I’ve kept that shit _ tight _ .

All for nothing now. Now everyone knows.

I can’t hide from it forever. Eventually I sit up again and grab my phone, seeking any distraction I can get. 

There’s a text message waiting for me. From Tseng, sent at 12:44 last night. About twenty minutes after I left the party. 

_ “Thank you for letting me know. Please rest up, and let me know if you need anything.” _

Hell of a distraction. Still, the contents of the text is reassuring - he doesn’t seem to be mad at me for leaving. 

I convince myself to get out of bed and get some breakfast in my system. The box of gil from last weekend is still sitting on the counter, tempting me to order in, but I’ve still got a bulk pack of oatmeal to work through. Can’t put anything new on the shelves until that’s gone - there’s no more room. This entire place is a closet. “Studio apartment,” my ass. 

As the water boils on the stovetop, I let my mind wander again. You know… I sure hope that Rufus and Reno are okay with what happened last night. I hadn’t even really thought of them at all in the moment, but is it really okay for Tseng to just go out scening with whoever he wants whenever?

I’m… Still not entirely sure how their relationships work. Do they just fuck around with each other, or do things run deeper than that?

My thoughts are interrupted by another text notification. 

From: Tseng

_ “Good morning, I hope you got some good rest. Just wanted to check in with you - how are you doing today?” _

Why the fuck did that make me blush? That shouldn’t make me blush. 

_ “Thanks, I passed out as soon as I got home. I feel fine, still sort of tired I guess” _

I resume mixing my breakfast.

_ Ding _ .

_ “To be expected. Let me know if you feel like you’re dropping - I’ll be available all day to help.” _

I furrow my brow. I appreciate the sentiment, but how does he expect to help me? Text supportive messages? He doesn’t seem like the type to do that.

At any rate, his mention of drop provides some clarity. That is kind of what I feel - this lowness and vague sense of regret. I reflect as I eat. Do I really regret anything I did? I mean, really, that was probably the safest possible place for that series of events to go down. Spicier and the others were clearly watching out for me, and it’s not like anyone there is going to attack me for my interests. People do much more intense stuff all the time - I’ve watched some neat blood and needleplay scenes in the past. Soap is almost juvenile in comparison. Uncommon as hell, sure, but… Well, thinking back, maybe not. Tseng did say he knew someone else like me.

I’m still not sure I believe that. I imagine he was probably just talking about me in some roundabout way. 

He laughed at me.

_ Sigh. _ There’s that drop mindset again - that dip in self-confidence. Not that there was terribly much there to begin with.

It’s okay, I don’t need help. I know what to look for and how to counteract it. Tseng’s mentioning it was all I needed.

I can tell that I spend the weekend dropping, but knowing what to look out for keeps me sane. I don’t let it get me down, and let myself recover in time. I don’t need to deal with the fallout from any of that until next Friday anyway. Tseng wouldn’t bring it up at work, right? 

I mean, I don’t really believe that for a second, but I try to convince myself that I do. It’s the only thing that gets me back on the train Monday morning.

I’m not sure I remember getting to my desk from there. My brain is still so much of a blur… If I’m not dreading the consequences of my confession, I’m fantasizing about them. Tseng did mention that he specialized in domestic discipline, and mouthsoaping falls squarely into that category. He brought it up completely unprompted. I keep imagining what it would be like if he were to actually follow through on his threat to do it to me. I can’t picture a clear scenario, but simply the concept has me wet by the time I sit down at my new desk.

There’s an email waiting for me when I open the secure laptop. I click on it and read. 

From: Tseng

_ “Lane - _

_ I apologize for the short notice, but is it possible to arrange a photo shoot for this afternoon in the studio? Noon, if possible - we’ll provide lunch. _

_ Please let me know ASAP. _

_ Tseng _

_ Director, Administrative Research _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

Oh shit, this afternoon? I’m not sure that’s doable. I open a new tab and login to the PR scheduling app to see if someone else has the space booked for that time.

Well, they don’t (and thus I book it right away just in case), but the offices will still be full of people who could hear just about anything that goes on through those thin walls. I should get the offices cleared first. Which is… tentatively possible. There were a few days in the last few months when we all got emails from higher-ups asking us to clear the offices for the afternoon for photo sessions.

But… I can’t do that, can I?

_ “Tseng - _

_ The studios are clear for the afternoon, but we’ll need to clear the studio offices if we want any privacy. Only lead photographers are able to clear offices, so unless I get some assistance I’m not sure I’ll be able to have things ready for this afternoon. _

_ I’ll see what I can do. _

_ Lane Elliott _

_ Photographer, PR _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

As I’m drafting an email to Marjorie, I get a message back from Tseng.

_ “Lane, you do realize that your official title is “Principle Photographer,” right? Technically, you outrank the Lead Photographers, and you’re well within your rights to clear the offices.  _

_ You’re perfectly capable of handling this issue on your own. _

_ Tseng _

_ Director, Administrative Research _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

I feel myself slide down in my seat. I… outrank all the Lead Photographers? 

That’s a lot of responsibility all at once.

...Okay, breathe, Lane. Tseng and the VP are counting on you to get those offices cleared. 

I can do this.

I scroll back in my inbox until I find the last email we all got. Everything’s already here for me - a general template to copy, plus the address of the PR employee listserv. Easy enough.

God, this sucks though. Not like everyone in the studio offices hates me enough already.

Regretfully, I hit send, and sigh. Nothing else to do now - what’s done is done. Hopefully that works. 

_ “Tseng -  _

_ Email has been sent. That should mean clear offices for us today. _

_ Are you able to elaborate on what today’s shoot might consist of? Any opinions on backdrops or lighting? _

_ Thanks _

_ Lane Elliott _

_ Principle Photographer, PR _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

His reply is nearly instant.

_ “Lane -  _

_ No. White backdrop, no special lights. A large floor space would be best. _

_ Tseng _

_ Director, Administrative Research _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

I sigh in frustration.

Well, I’ve got no photos to edit until those new ones are taken, so in the meantime, I head over to the studio to start getting it in shape for whatever Tseng has planned today. No one else had the studio scheduled for this morning, so I’m free to get it set up to save myself time later.

I’m not two steps into the studio office space before I realize that I’ve made a mistake. Every person I pass is glaring at me, absolutely peeved at my email, no doubt. I’ve disrupted their afternoons now, and I know from experience how frustrating that can be. They’ve got every reason to be pissed at me right now.

I wonder if the offices really will be empty when we come through.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Boudoir photo shoot, pet play, puppy play, collar, tail plug, muzzle, gag, piss, piss play, watersports

When the studios are ready, I head back to my desk and chill out for a while. Phone games have become my friend in my spare time in this office, but hey, this will have to do. Better than loitering around the studio.

Finally, 11:55 rolls around, and I head back toward the offices to meet Tseng and (I assume) Rufus at the elevator. 

I get there just in time as the doors slide open. I see Tseng’s face first, and he smiles warmly at me. My mind flashes briefly back to Friday night, and I feel a swarm of butterflies in my chest. As he exits, I see he’s got a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He’s followed closely by Rufus, who gives me an equally warm smile, and, to my surprise, trailed by Reno, who looks far less than happy to be here. He looks right through me, pouting as he stomps into the hallway.

“Nice to see you guys again,” I say, trying to be polite. I start to lead them toward the studio, but as we turn into the office space, my stomach drops. 

No one has left. The room is still buzzing with activity, but none of it seems to be work. The employees congregate in pods, sharing their lunches and chatting. As I come around the corner, they all stop to glare at me, then turn back to their conversations.

I turn around. Tseng has stepped up next to me, his brow furrowed as he analyzes what’s going on.

“I thought you said you sent an email,” he says quietly.

“I-I did,” Fuck, my voice is shaking. Hold it together, Lane. I pull out my phone and find the email, double-checking that I wrote in the date and time correctly. Yeah, I did. I knew I did. Tseng peeks over my shoulder and confirms it for himself, then turns around.

“Reno, Rufus,” he says quietly. Without any other communication, the three of them step out around me and into the space, shoulder to shoulder. Conversation stops as my department colleagues realize that the company VP is staring them down.

“I’m certain you all got an email earlier today asking you to clear this area,” Tseng says. His voice is edged, dark, and stern, “It’s past time for you all to be  _ gone _ .”

“Doesn’t look like much work’s getting done in here, boss,” Reno adds in a smug drawl, leaning against the wall.

“You’re certainly right,” Rufus says lowly, “I thought this department just got audited. Clearly, the team didn’t look close enough. Maybe it’s time to just fire  _ everyone _ and start over.”

That does the trick. Sandwiches fall to the floor, abandoned, as the studio offices empty in less than a heartbeat. Every single person clears out, nearly trampling me in the process. When the storm passes, I turn back to the trio in front of me.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stutter, “I didn’t think-”

“Don’t apologize,” Tseng says, “If anyone should apologize, it’s me. I didn’t account for just how petty your department colleagues could be,” He shakes his head in exasperation, “But, now that that’s taken care of, shall we get down to business?”

I take a deep breath, trying to recover from being so shaken. Well, hopefully this teaches them all a lesson - they won’t be bothering me again. We walk into the studio.

“So, what’s-” I start, but Tseng cuts me off just as soon as the door is closed.

“Strip,” He orders Reno, who is almost instantly back to looking pissed off. The redhead makes a low, growling whine as he begins to undress, starting with the goggles that rest on his forehead and working his way down.

While Reno strips under Tseng’s supervision, Rufus takes the bag from Tseng’s shoulder and sets it off in the corner, unzipping it and digging through. He looks lovely today, dressed in cream-colored dress pants and a matching vest over a deep blue dress shirt. He looks stunningly handsome.

I’m shaken back to consciousness as Reno steps by me onto the white backdrop I’d picked. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him naked, technically, but this is the first time I’ve  _ knowingly _ seen him naked. That angry look is still cemented on his face, but the glances he’s giving me are frosted with a blush. He’s embarrassed, and he kneels on the backdrop under the gaze of the other two men in the room.

Rufus and Tseng step over to the redhead, producing various items from behind their backs. Tseng goes first, popping a pair of dog ears onto Reno’s head. They’re fluffy and black, and half-flopped in shape. The sneer on Reno’s face proves his distaste for them - I have a feeling that he’s seen these ears before. 

Tseng turns around to fiddle with something else, and in the meantime, Rufus pushes a bit gag into Reno’s mouth. It’s long and shaped like a dog bone - I’m noticing a pattern here. On top of the bone gag, he secures a muzzle around Reno’s face. Despite the coverage, I can still see his blush.

Tseng turns back around with something damning in his hand, catching me by surprise and causing my breath to hitch. 

A lubed-up tailplug. A  _ big  _ tailplug.

“Turn, pup,” Tseng orders. Reno squeezes his eyes shut, but obeys in silence. I watch in awe as Tseng slowly pushes the plug into him, eliciting whines and wiggles from Reno’s hips. I swear it isn’t going to go all the way in, but eventually it does, accompanied by a moaned cry.

“Just one thing left,” Rufus purrs quietly, then turns to me, “Lane, we want you to start taking pictures with this one.”

Pictures. Right, oh my gods, I’d pretty much forgotten. I rush back to my camera and get it turned on, making sure that everything is arranged before giving Rufus a thumbs up. 

Reno and Rufus are both in profile to my lens, and Rufus smirks as he wraps a leather collar around the redhead’s neck, pausing to adjust his ponytail before securing it and tucking away the ends. Reno scowls at him, and I snap a few photos. 

“You don’t look very happy to be here, Reno,” Tseng says over my shoulder, “What do you think, Lane? Shouldn’t he be smiling for the camera?”

I feel my face flush. 

“I mean… Yeah, the pictures will look a lot nicer if you try to look happy,” I concede.

“You heard them, Reno - Or are you trying to earn more punishment than what you already have coming?”

I almost feel like I’m witnessing something that I shouldn’t be. Reno gives me a glance with a totally new expression, a cross between anger and misery. His eyes beg for mercy, but Rufus puts a hand firmly on the collar and pulls Reno’s attention back to him. I lean down again to focus another shot, and I hear Tseng snap his fingers behind me. Upon hearing the sound, Reno perks up, giving his best effort. 

I really can’t see much of his smile behind the gag and muzzle - especially since his eyes are still expressing emotions that are quite opposite of happy. Nevertheless, it seems to satisfy Tseng and Rufus. Rufus stands up tall and straight, and glances down at his makeshift dog on the floor. 

“Sit pretty,” he commands, “I want these to look professional, like formal portraits.”

Reno whines, to which Rufus smacks him across the face. Reno initially hisses in pain, but the sound he makes devolves into a low moan. I watch his cock jump - fuck, I hadn’t even registered that he was hard. 

“You know by now that if you’re going to bitch about D’s lifestyle, you’ll  _ be _ the bitch for a day. Honestly, I can’t believe you haven’t learned by now,” Rufus smirks and picks up his foot, toeing at Reno’s hard dick, “I’m starting to think you almost  _ like _ being my dog.”

Reno moans, a sound reminiscent of the word “No,” but mostly unintelligible through the gag/muzzle combo. 

This… makes a great picture. I snap one.

It earns me a slightly panicked glance from Reno, but Rufus’s shoe brings him back to full attention damn quickly with only a little extra pressure. Rufus looks domineering as hell like this, and it’s a side of him I haven’t had a chance to see yet. Already, I can tell that he’s coming off a lot more sadistic than Tseng. Less business, more play - and I can definitely get down with both sides of that coin.

I’m still trying to grip what’s going on as the shoot continues. Obviously this is some kind of punishment, or… scene? Both, I guess. Hard to tell. More shots of Rufus’s shoe on Reno’s dick, followed by Reno finally sitting pretty. I give him minimal direction, turning him to a 45-degree angle for most of the shots. 

“You know Lane, this puppy knows some tricks,” Rufus tells me with a meaningful look, “You can pose him however you’d like. Don’t be shy.”

Despite the encouragement, I still blush. This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked to participate in the scene I’m photographing - lots of couples turn boudoir shoots into scenes and playtime, and I’m almost always happy to participate, but the stakes of the relationships I have with these guys have me a lot more nervous than usual. What do I say?

“Um… Lie down?” I try something fairly innocuous. With almost no hesitation, Reno lowers his chest to the floor, positioning himself in a somewhat curled-up pose. That’s not a bad picture either - I start taking shots again, and continue to order him around on occasion. Beg, sit, roll over… With the blush on his cheeks and his sad puppy eyes, he looks positively cute.

We soon grab a simple straight-backed chair for Rufus to sit in, and Reno puts his hands on his boss’s knees and gazes into the camera. Rufus almost looks like he’s sitting on a throne - he’s regal like this, his eyes serious and a smirk on his lips just about the entire time. Just like the last shoot, those beautiful, near-perfect shots just keep rolling in, and I reflect on how difficult it’s going to be to pare these ones down too.

If they want them edited, that is. I honestly have no idea what’s going to happen with these photos - are these ones Rufus will want proofs of, or are they some kind of blackmail? Blackmail kind of seems to be the MO with these guys - I know they’ve got plenty enough on me already. I’m guessing that Reno hasn’t escaped that web either. 

Eventually, a moment passes where the shoot lulls. I turn back to check out the last few photos, and out of the corner of my eye I see Tseng dig through the bag again and move toward the center of the room. 

“Alright, pup,” he says, commanding attention, “Time for your potty break.”

The noise Reno makes sounds little like him - an animalistic sound, something between a groan and a squeak. I can’t tell if he’s dreading this, or if it’s turning him on. I guess it’s probably both.

Tseng spreads a white square of padding, edged with blue, on the backdrop floor. He points to the puppy pad and smiles cruelly.

“Go on - show Lane how you’ve been housebroken,” he says, sounding far too pleased with himself. Reno moans again, and Rufus steps off to the side, laughing as he goes.

“If you get a single drop on Lane’s background,” Rufus warns, “I’ll walk you out of here just as you are. Watch your aim.”

Reno’s entire face is bright red now, to the point that I can barely see his tattoos. I’m not entirely sure what to do - am I supposed to watch, or take pictures? I glance over at Tseng, who catches my eye and nods back toward Reno.

“Go ahead - I’m sure Reno would love some pictures of this,” he says, “While we’re on the topic of sharing fetishes, you ought to know that Reno is very much into watersports and humiliation.”

“O-Oh?” I say, perking up a little. So this is a scene, then - Reno’s getting off on this. On any other day, I might doubt Tseng’s trustworthiness, but right now the noises that Reno’s making and the rock-hard state of his dick are confirming exactly what I’ve been told. I smile and pull the camera back up to my face, taking aim and snapping a few shots of his desperation - gotta have the before-and-afters of that puppy pad, after all. 

The first dregs of piss start to dribble out, and once he feels the relief, Reno lets go, gasping and nearly shaking as he releases. The puppy pad is soaked, and the piss splatters back onto his thighs as I snap a long series of pictures. He almost looks as if he’s orgasmed, and the only sound in the room is the gentle hiss and the intermittent noises of pleasure coming from the puppy in the spotlight. Finally, after several very long seconds, the stream turns back into a trickle and Reno sighs deeply, revelling in the pleasurable feeling of emptiness.

Tseng doesn’t let him relax long before he steps onto the backdrop and leans down. I see that he’s got some kind of wipe in his hand, and he runs it over Reno’s cock and thighs, cleaning away any visage of piss that remains. The way he does it is almost clinical - like Reno’s less of a person or a dog and more a piece of furniture. I can tell that Reno feels that way, too, from the way he whimpers and squirms. It almost makes me want to squirm too - that sort of objectification presses a few of my own buttons. More than anything, I want to get some pictures of this (even if just for myself), but I recall Tseng’s order not to take any pictures of him without permission. I don’t want to interrupt, and, as much fun as it could be to get in trouble with him again, I don’t want to violate his consent. That goes too far.

“Stand up,” Tseng orders, his tone all business. Reno obeys, and Tseng makes sure to clean off the rest of his legs before dropping the used wipe on the soaked pad. From his back pocket, he produces a plastic bag and picks up the contained mess from the floor, tying the bag off to seal it away. The distinct smell of pee has only just reached me, and I hope that the bag is enough to suppress it. It’s not a stench I care for. 

“And now I think it’s time for the last part of your punishment. Rufus?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Pet play, puppy play, spanking, discussion of mouthsoaping

Tseng steps off the backdrop to allow Rufus to return. The handsome VP has a small paddle in his hand, composed of black leather and with small, smoothly-rounded rivets along the edges. Oh, that motherfucker is gonna _hurt_. I’m suddenly extra grateful that these guys helped me clear out the offices earlier - I have a feeling this is going to get loud. I get my camera ready.

“Hello, Elena,” Tseng’s voice from the corner distracts me for a moment, and I turn to see who he’s talking to. His phone is held up to his ear, “Yes, we’re almost ready. Lunch for five, if you’d still like to join us. ...Yes, that will be fine, thank you. Dismissed.”

He starts to put the phone back in his pocket, but my attention is pulled back to Reno and Rufus as a sharp smack lands. Reno yelps, on all fours now, with his ass facing right toward me and my camera… Which is hanging loosely in my hands, not taking pictures. I adjust it, and Rufus glances my way.

“Oh dear, was someone not paying attention?” He stands up a little straighter, pausing to look at me, “Perhaps you could _also_ use a little help focusing, Lane,” Rufus glances over at Tseng, and before I can even look, I can feel his body behind me. 

“Ah!” I squeal as I feel the back of my pants get tugged upward, lifting me to my toes, and it’s immediately followed by several sharp smacks on my ass. It’s electrifying - not that it hurts very much, but rather that I’m immediately pummeled down into subspace as my authority is suddenly revoked.

“You get such good action shots, Lane,” Tseng says, releasing my waistband, “We’d hate to miss any of them.”

I’m almost panting now, trying to catch my breath and regain my balance. My legs feel shaky as I’m released and I nearly fall to the floor, but I keep myself upright and don’t waste any time getting my camera pulled back up to my face so I can take the pictures they want. Once he’s sure that I’m ready, Rufus smiles at my lens and turns back toward Reno, resuming his paddling with another strong strike. 

Having the camera in front of me is like an automatic focuser - I’m immediately drawn back in, timing my camera snaps with the snaps of Rufus’s paddle. I know I’m getting those great shots where you can see the ripple of impact as it screams over Reno’s ass - those shots are the best. The butterflies aren’t gone from my impromptu discipline just seconds ago, but it’s as if they’re frozen in place, put on pause by my need to complete this objective. 

Reno’s clearly not having a very good time. The silicone tail plug wags back and forth wildly as the spanks rain down, and Rufus’s arm seems practiced and steady. He dips a fair number of his hits onto Reno’s upper thighs, and the redhead’s ass is just about the same fiery color as his hair. In a few spots on the edges of the marks, I can see tiny rings where the paddle’s rivets have left their vicious footprints.

By the time Rufus decides he’s done, Reno is shaking. I imagine he’s barely managing to stay upright, and as Rufus finally stops and announces that he’s finished, Reno lets himself slowly slump down to the floor. In the same motion, I let myself loosen up a little, snapping only a few last photos of the aftermath of this intense scene. As I begin to let myself relax and move, the butterflies start to flutter again, coursing through me once more as I fully register the fact that I just got spanked by my supervisor - on the clock, no less.

Rufus walks over to the corner and tosses the paddle back in the bag, swapping it out instead for a handful of different items before walking back over to Reno. I watch as he slowly tugs on Reno’s tailplug until it slides out, producing a plastic bag and dropping the plug inside. He swaps the baggie for a small bottle, overturning it and dispensing what looks to be lotion into his hand before gently massaging it against Reno’s red-hot ass cheeks, one by one. The touches elicit whimpers from Reno, and I find myself tuned into those sounds. Something about the noises he makes are just so… I don’t even know, really. Intimate, I suppose?

It’s right around that point when the door quietly creaks open. I turn to watch a somewhat shorter girl step inside the room almost timidly, toting a bag with her. She wears the same black suit as Tseng, neat and orderly. Her hair is blonde and cut in a cool asymmetrical bob.

“Hey guys,” she says brightly, completely unbothered by the scene occurring in the center of the room, “Lunch is here!”

“Thank you, Elena,” Tseng says, beginning to get his duffle bag rearranged, “Go ahead and set it up on the table over there - we’re just wrapping up.”

“Yes, Sir!” she responds with a smile, then steps past me to reach the table. We catch eyes for a moment, and she stops short. 

“Oh, hello!” she grins, “You’re the photographer I’ve been hearing about, aren’t you?”

“I… Guess I am,” I reply awkwardly, “My name’s Lane.”

“I’m Elena,” she says, taking a half-step toward the table to get things ready, “Nice to meet you!”

“Yeah, nice to meet you too!” Formality is almost automatic to me at this point. This close, I can see how pretty her brown eyes are.

 _Fuck, she’s cute_.

My train of thought is interrupted by a low, spacey chuckle from the floor behind me. Reno snorts.

“Heh… Lane and Laney,” he points out, finally moving to lift himself from the floor. Apparently, Rufus has already removed his gags and the rest of his puppy gear, save the collar. I hear Elena sigh across the room, giving him a playful glare over her shoulder. 

“Yes,” Tseng says slowly, also giving Reno a warning glance, “Lane, Elena is another one of our colleagues. Elena, Lane is Rufus’s new private photographer,” He smirks as he steps over toward the table, starting to grab chairs and set them up so we can sit and chat, “I’m glad to be getting the two of you introduced. You’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the future, I’m sure.”

“Huh? Why?” Elena asks as she sets out sandwiches and soda cans from her bag.

“You’ve both got a significant common interest,” Tseng replies. All at once, I feel my heart drop out through my feet. Don’t tell me she’s…

“It seems you’re both _very_ big fans of mouthsoaping.”

I don’t think I’m breathing anymore. Elena freezes, then whips around to stare me down. I stare back at her, and watch as a deep blush climbs up her face, inch by inch. I’m sure mine is doing the same.

“Y-You…?” she starts, not entirely sure what to say, “You like… You really like _that_?”

“From what I’d gathered, it’s more than just a ‘like,’” Tseng smirks, grabbing a can of soda and opening it with a click and a hiss, “If I recall correctly, Lane described soap as their ‘main thing.’”

I try to look busy in what may be the world’s poorest attempt to seem unbothered - packing up my camera is the only thing that manages to keep me from hiding my face in my hands. 

“Oh, is that so?” Rufus steps up to the table, running his fingers through my hair as he passes by and making me jump with his touch, “That’s _definitely_ good to know.”

“Talk about a _fun_ fact,” Reno adds, standing and stretching his arms over his head in all his full, naked glory. In what’s almost certainly a health code violation, he also heads over to the lunch table and serves himself, opting to lean against the wall to eat instead of sitting in the chairs with everyone else. I’m the only one not situated with food yet, and I do my best to get a grip and grab the last sandwich and soda. It’s a club, with a big slice of tomato that almost certainly matches my face. The dynamic in the room has suddenly shifted, and now I’m the one at the bottom of the pile - just like that. 

“I’m sure the two of you have plenty of questions for each other,” Tseng grins as I sit, “So, really, go on - don’t let us keep you two from getting to know one another.”

Oh, that’s a setup and a half. He must know that neither of us are going to initiate a conversation about this. The only seat left had been the one next to her, and I find myself unable to do more than steal quick glances in her direction, staring otherwise at the sandwich in my lap. 

As predicted, neither of us say anything. The silence is thick with tension and broken only by the quiet snickering coming from Rufus and Reno, almost too low to hear. 

“I see I’ll have to facilitate some conversation today,” Tseng says, lifting his soda back up to his grinning lips.

“Maybe they need to lay off the soap for a while,” Rufus laughs, “Seems like you washed away more than just the bad words - they don’t seem to have _any_ words right now.”

“Oh my gods…” Reno snorts at his boss’s joke, “The dangers of a soap overdose.”

Even Tseng can’t hold back some breathy laughter - his shoulders bounce just enough to give it away.

“If a ‘soap overdose’ made you stop talking, Reno, you’d have lost your voice a long time ago. I’m willing to bet you’ve had more soap than anyone else here. And you’re not even into it,” he smirks. 

So Reno’s had it, then? Tseng makes it sound like he’s gotten it as a punishment. But was that a punishment he’s gotten from Tseng?

“H-Hey !” Reno’s blush flares up again, “Fat chance. You and Elena do that shit at least once a week!”

“And you’ve been getting it nearly every other week for more than twice as long,” Tseng replies cooly, raising a brow, “Elena may get it more frequently, but she hasn’t been here nearly as long as you.”

My breath catches again. So it’s true, then - Tseng really does give them punishments, including mouthsoapings, at work. What this morning had been senseless fantasy was actually a real thing. Holy fucking shit. And… Am I going to be privy to that? Will I ever get to see? Take pictures? _Participate,_ gods forbid?!

The rest of Tseng’s statement pulls me out of my fantasy spiral though, and it gives me enough courage to steal a real glance at Elena. So she’s also pretty new, huh? I should probably ask her when she started at some point, but right now doesn’t seem like a prime moment. 

“Well… What about Lane?” Reno points at me, “If they’re into it, I bet they do it all the time. They’ve _gotta_ have me beat.”

All the eyes in the room fall on me. They’re waiting for an answer - for me to confirm or deny. Frankly, I don’t know what’s worse - admitting aloud that my real-life experience with this act is quite limited, or lying and ending up blowing Reno’s record out of the water. There’s no winning. 

“I…” I swallow, trying to get my voice to function, “I’ve only done it a dozen or so times,” I admit in a near whisper. Fuck, that fact almost makes me feel like a fraud. Seems like I might be the least-experienced one in the room. 

“You’ve done it to yourself?” Rufus probes, “Or someone’s done it to you?”

Gods, answering these questions is worse than pulling teeth. I can’t get myself to buck up and just answer.

“...Both,” I finally relent, “But… mostly with others.”

“Former partners?” Tseng asks.

“Yeah,” I reply.

“Hm,” Tseng reaches for his sandwich, “So, quite different from Elena’s experience, then.”

I look over at her. She’s still just as red as when the secret first dropped.

“Until I started doing it with these guys,” she admits sheepishly, “I’d only had it a few times… From my parents or teachers.”

That _is_ very different from my experience. 

“Wow…” I say, searching for words, “It… wasn’t a thing at home when I was a kid, but a lot of my friends got it from their parents.”

Elena makes a soft noise, somewhere between a laugh and whimper. I hope we’re not dredging up painful memories here - I couldn’t imagine how I would’ve handled things if my parents had ever brought that punishment to the table in my youth. I’d be traumatized now if they had.

“Lane,” Tseng says, starting a new chain of conversation, “When you told me about your fetish on Friday, you specified that it was about soap ‘in general’ - Would you like to explain to me what you meant by that?”

I can’t help it anymore - one of my hands finds its way to my face and covers my mouth. If I could just learn to control the damn thing for once instead of saying the first thing that pops into my head every time…

“I’m waiting for an answer,” Tseng reminds me, leaning forward slightly. It makes me draw back even further in my seat.

I swallow and try to breathe.

“It just… goes beyond mouthsoaping,” I squeak, the last word trailing off into a whisper as I can’t bring myself to say it aloud, “It’s anytime… that stuff is involved. Baths, hairwashing, even just like, doing chores sometimes… It all just…” I let myself trail off and hide in my hand again. I can’t say any more.

“It all just turns you into a horny little mess,” Reno finishes, teasing me through a mouthful of sandwich. I squeak, and I hear the soft laughter resume. 

“That’s fascinating,” Tseng says, “And then, do you need to be the object of those acts? Or providing? Or does it not matter?”

“...Doesn’t matter,” I cringe, barely holding things together, “Just… needs to involve… yeah.”

“So then, I imagine that walking in on someone in the bath or shower would really turn you on,” Rufus speculates. All I can do is nod, keeping my eyes still fixed on the red tomato of my sandwich in my lap. The air feels like it’s vibrating, especially between me and Elena. 

“Elena, I think you fall somewhere similar,” Tseng addresses her, causing her to jump a little and lift her chin, “You get plenty of enjoyment from soapsticks as well, and baths when we get the chance to do them.”

 _Soapsticks?_ That’s a new term to me. I make a mental note to look that up later. Right now, however, Elena whimpers, and I listen carefully to her reactions. 

“Y-Yes, Sir,” she stutters.

“What else have we done?” Tseng asks. I’m not sure if he’s asking a rhetorical question, or if he’s seeking an answer.

Elena answers anyway.

“Well… A-Anytime you wash my hair, Sir… Or, in the- the showers…” Gods, she can barely get the words out too. It’s adorable, actually - really endearing. Do I sound like that?

“I feel like most people enjoy shared baths, or having their hair washed,” Rufus observes, “But for you two, it’s the soap that does it? I’m genuinely curious - what about it is so enticing?”

I glance at Elena, and find that she’s looking back at me. For a moment, we hold gazes, silently sharing our sentiment - _Damned if I know._ I’ve been into this for as long as I can recall - I don’t know why it’s hot. It just is. Ultimately, I turn back and just sort of shrug. Elena does the same.

“It can be hard to define why one has a fetish,” Tseng answers for us, sipping at his soda, “But, as someone who enjoys delivering a good mouthsoaping every once in a while-”

“Pffft,” Reno rolls his eyes, and Tseng cuts him a glare for interrupting.

“-For me, it’s about the vulnerability of it. It’s a punishment that absolutely requires active participation, and therefore requires the submissive to yield to direction. Not to mention how humiliating and objectifying it can feel to be washed like that.”

His description is pretty spot-on. Elena and I squirm in our seats.

“Hm…” Rufus smiles as he processes the information, “I can see that. Being scrubbed clean like the dirty little things they are. I suppose, deep down, they know they deserve it.”

“Of course they do,” Tseng replies casually, “There’s really some interesting symbolism in it, if you analyze - the innate desire to be punished and cleansed of shameful behavior. Which is especially interesting in the case of these two, because the more you scrub, the more filthy they’re going to get,” Tseng points with two fingers toward our groins, and I cringe again, “So ultimately, you perpetuate a cycle. They’ll never be truly clean...”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t try,” Rufus finishes with a grin. 

“Of course,” Tseng says, “It wouldn’t be any fun otherwise,” His eyes glide back up toward us, and I swear that gaze is going to make me combust. Being talked about like I’m not here is going to be my ultimate demise.

“You know, I gotta admit, I’m sorta glad that there’s two of them now,” Reno says, pausing to take a swig from his soda can, “Hopefully you’ll get so sick of soaping those two that you won’t be able to stand doin’ it to me.”

“You know, the fact that you dislike it is what makes it such a good punishment for you, Reno,” Tseng says, leaning back to catch the redhead’s eye, “And besides, I don’t think I _could_ get tired of it. There are ways to change it up and make it so much more fun - isn’t that right, Elena?” I hear Elena whimper softly.

“Oh?” Rufus adds, “The two of you have been getting experimental lately, hm?”

“Oh yes,” Tseng says, “There are so many factors to consider - location, tools, positions… No two of our sessions are exactly the same, really, and that suits us both just as well.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re having fun,” Rufus chuckles, turning back toward the last few bites of his lunch, “I’ll bet the two of you can’t wait to get Lane at the sink now.”

“I’ll admit I’m very much looking forward to it,” Tseng says, flashing his eyes at me for a second, “But it’s difficult to plan ahead these days. We’ll just have to wait and see when the time arrives. I don’t feel a need to rush, anyhow - nothing wrong with building a little suspense.”

Tseng takes another sip from his drink, but suddenly we hear a muted noise from his pocket - his ringtone. He sets down his soda and pulls his phone out, holding it to his ear.

“Of course, Rude. Thank you. We’ll be down shortly,” With a nod, Tseng hangs up his phone, then stands up. 

“Time certainly flies when you’re having fun,” he says with a grin in my direction, “But it’s past time for us to return to work. There’s a fairly tight list of meetings and tasks that need to be done today,” Tseng makes his way toward the bag in the corner of the room, “Reno, get dressed. Back to work mode.”

“Hmph,” Reno crosses his arms and saunters toward the corner where Tseng is holding his clothes, “Anywhere’s better than having to crawl on the floor like a dumb dog.”

“Oh Reno, have you really not learned your lesson yet?” Tseng asks, turning suddenly toward the redhead and grabbing him firmly by the ponytail, “Wasn’t that punishment enough for you? Or do you need to do your afternoon research with a bar of soap in your mouth? I’m sure that will motivate you to change your tone.”

Reno struggles in Tseng’s grip. I can see the threat take hold on his face, and he stops fighting, obviously eager not to have to go through that. 

“No, please… It’s fine, just… Please let me get dressed?” His tone had indeed shaped right up, fighting its way to politeness. I can tell it isn’t easy for him, but he does his best.

As Reno pulls up his pants, Elena stands and puts the lunch leftovers and trash back into the bag she’d brought in. The blush is still firm on her cheeks (mine too, probably), and she turns to look at me when she’s done packing up.

“It was… very nice to meet you, Lane,” she says, sounding utterly flustered, “I… Hope to see you again soon.”

“Yeah, it was really nice meeting you too,” I reply awkwardly, “I would… really love to see you again sometime.”

“You’ll both get your chances soon enough,” Tseng says, picking up the bag from the floor. He slings it over his shoulder and steps toward the door.

“Lane, go ahead and edit the photos as you normally would,” Tseng says, “Pick your favorites and then just do light corrections. These are for more personal use, so no need to go too in-depth - just give us a refined selection,” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time, “I’ll be in touch with you soon regarding your next assignment.”

My hazy brain affords me a crumb of wit.

“Should I bring any dog toys next time?” I ask, delighting in the scowl that appears on Reno’s face from the doorway, “I hear bitches love dog toys.”

Reno audibly groans, and Rufus and Elena laugh in the hallway. Tseng smiles.

“Such disrespectful language, Lane. Maybe you need to join Reno for his next session at my sink?” My stomach drops, and I feel the smile fall off my face. Tseng smiles wider.

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it,” he says with a smile as he steps out, closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elena's mouthsoaping fetish was explored in much greater depth in my fic "Appointments at the Sink." If you're enjoying this, stop by to give it a read. Additionally, if you liked reading about puppy Reno, check out my other fic, "Man's Best Friend." It's all about Reno getting himself treated like a dog for the first time... That's what he gets for picking on Dark Nation.
> 
> Three chapters today - they were a box set of sorts lol. Hope you enjoyed!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: mentions of mouthsoaping & soapstick

The rest of the day is an utter blur. I don’t remember my afternoon (though I know I get all the photos uploaded), and I don’t remember my train ride home. I don’t remember what I have for dinner or when I go to bed - it all just happens.

I remember the dream I have that night. Stood up at one of the sinks in the 16th floor bathroom, with all my coworkers standing in the door watching. Tseng on one side of me and Elena on the other, taking turns scrubbing my mouth out with soap. Elena was so blushy and shy, even in my dream - honestly, it’s sort of out-of-place, but I don’t mind. I still can’t believe how cute she was at work yesterday.

Fucking hell, I have a crush. Just like that - instant.

Details float in and out of my mind on the train trip to work on Tuesday morning. Disbelief at the fact that Tseng wasted no time spilling my secret in front of everyone… That number of people who know is climbing so damn fast. It has to have at least quadrupled by now from what it was five days ago. The way Tseng’s gaze could melt me to the ground, and how he and Rufus would talk about anyone in the room as if we weren’t there… Gods, just the memory gives me butterflies again. Tseng spanking me out of nowhere, and Reno looking so sorry for himself... 

I’ve got all the photos curated by eleven, which gives me about an hour of free time before I normally take my lunch. I sit at my open computer, staring at the screen, trying to figure out what to do.

Oh, yeah - there were a couple things yesterday that had piqued my interest that I wanted to look up. Well, now’s a great time, isn’t it?

I start back again with the company database. I try “Tseng” again, and “Reno,” and now “Elena.” No cigar still. I do get a few hits for “Elena,” but none of them are the one I met yesterday.

Tseng had mentioned another name when he was talking on the phone - someone named Rude, I guess? What a strange name. But, well, I picked my name out myself - I don’t really have great grounds to judge here. I named myself after a street, and then after… myself. So I don’t get a pass either. 

I type in “Rude.” To my absolute lack of surprise, nothing appears.  _ No results.  _ Same as ever.

Okay then, what was the other thing I wanted to look up again…?

_ Oh. _ That’s right… Soapstick. What is that? Tseng said it was something he’d done with Elena, and frankly it sounded right up my alley.

I open a new browser window, and make sure I have it set to private mode so none of this information is kept. You know, on second thought… If the pictures are secure on the secure laptop, then so is my browsing history, right? The company might be able to dredge up stuff I search on the desktop. I take the time to switch over, opening a new private browser window again. 

In the search bar, I type “soapstick.”

The search tries to correct me - did you mean “soap stick”? I… guess? I click on the correction to load it, but then the only results I get are articles or pages that happen to contain both those words. None of them yield anything of use. I hit the back arrow.

There are four results for the search term “soapstick,” two of which are typos. One is written in Wutaian, and it sort of looks like just a big jumble of random words and characters. 

The top result is from an old book - something written some two hundred years ago, now logged online. I click on it, and read the relevant passage.

_ “...Horace was unkind to his friends in the schoolhouse, and thusly was chastised upon returning home. His mother did best by him and the schoolmates he bullied, by administering a soapstick and a good whipping before sending him to bed with no supper...” _

Well, I mean, the word  _ is _ in there in a punishment context. But it still doesn’t tell me  _ what _ a soapstick is. Is it just a fancy way of saying mouthsoaping? Maybe a certain technique, or…?

Fuck, I don’t know. That ultimately wasn’t very helpful - in fact, it was downright painful to read. I close the browser. Mobile games it is, then. 

Eventually lunch rolls around, and I’m glad to get out of my office chair for a while (comfy as it is). In the food court, I grab a salad and find an empty table to sit at. I’m never far from the studio folks, but I don’t think I’m going to be welcome to sit with them again any time soon. 

As I’m mixing the dressing into the greens of my meal, I peek around the cafeteria. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a familiar glimpse of bright red hair, and look up in full just in time to see Reno turn around across the room with a sandwich in hand. Just after him, a tall dark gentleman turns, wearing some interesting-looking sunglasses. He matches Reno’s pace, and right behind them, I see a blonde bob following behind - Elena. My breath catches, and I find I can’t look away as they stride down the aisle with their lunches in hand, talking and laughing.

Elena sees me first, and gives me a smile and a wave.

“Hi, Lane!” she says cheerfully. Reno (and the tall guy) both turn around just long enough to give me a nod of greeting, then continue on their way. I’m guessing they have somewhere to be, especially based on their speed. I barely have time to say hello in return before they’re long gone. I watch them go until they’re out of sight. 

Gods, why does just seeing them make me feel so fuzzy? They’re like, tough, badass bodyguards - not the kind of thing that attracts normal people. 

I turn back to my salad, but something feels off. I look up at the PR table, and find my instinct to be spot-on - I’m being stared at by every person seated there.

“Elliott, what the hell are you doing?” one of the guys asks. 

I hesitate.

“...Eating lunch?” I offer.

“Why the hell are you on a first name basis with the Turks?!”

I frown.

“...Turks?”

“Yeah, the company  _ assassins? _ ” another employee says, “Those are definitely Turks, Lane.”

“Assassins? What are you guys talking about? They’re just… the VP’s bodyguards,” I stammer. Turks… I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere before. Maybe at one of the BDSM parties, someone mentioned a kidnapping simulation scene where their partner pretended to be a Turk. I hadn’t been in Midgar for too long, but from what I’d picked up, the Turks were something of a local urban legend - a story that parents told their children to keep them well-behaved. 

They couldn’t be real, could they?

“Lane, the VP’s bodyguards are all infantrymen. Don’t you know what department these guys work for?”

“The… Administrative Research department?” I offer what I know.

“Uh-huh, those are definitely Turks,” he continues, “What did you think the Administrative Research department does?”

I wrack my brain.

“I… I didn’t know…”

“They do, you know, ‘special  _ research _ ’ for the administrative department,” another adds, “Taking care of the execs’ dirty work. Keeping people  _ quiet _ .”

I can hear my heart beat, and a cold bead of sweat sweeps down my neck.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing with them, Elliott,” the first guy says, “But whatever it is, you better watch where you step. They’ll fuck you up, kid. Watch your fuckin’ back.”

This can’t be happening. 

No, this isn’t true. They’re just pissed from yesterday still - they’re lying to me.

I stuff down the rest of my lunch, my nose buried in the bowl. I try to piece it together - I mean, yeah, they don’t look like infantrymen, but I’ve not ever seen Rufus with infantrymen either. And Rufus is, well, himself. If he trusts these guys, then I can trust them too - right?

But my anxiety creeps in. All the bad vibes I got from those first few days… Feeling as though I was being watched and followed. Not knowing how Rufus found out about my side business, and the blackmail… I recall having a sense of being set up for something. For failure. 

Oh gods, I should’ve trusted my gut the first time. 

I rush back to my office and sit down at the computer. I open the secure terminal, and pull up the company database.

“Turks”

_ No results. _

I open the browser.

“Turks”

584 results, most of which are news articles. 

_ “The Shinra Electric Power Company has admitted in the past to employing a special service of militant operatives known internally as the Turks, who are assigned sensitive or covert missions on behalf of the company’s military wing.” _

One article speculates that the Turks are a myth. The next one wonders if they’ve been disbanded. 

The third is a newspaper article. It includes a photo. I click on it.

The headline reads “Shinra’s Turks Still Operate.”

The photo is blurry. It looks almost as though it was taken during some kind of standoff - guns are drawn, but no one is shooting. I can see men dressed like SOLDIERs in the background, along with typical infantrymen. But in the foreground is a face I recognize.

Tseng. 

Hair tied back in a ponytail, same black suit with red bloodstains peppering the white shirt beneath. It’s smeared on his cheek too - he looks more pissed than I’ve yet to see him, and he holds a drawn handgun toward something in the distance.

According to the picture’s caption, the photo is old - nearly eight years old, in fact, and was taken during a hostage situation involving the…  _ Vice President. _ I swallow hard. Tseng is not identified as anybody other than “One of the company’s Turks,” but his face is unmistakable to me. 

The article is actually relatively tame - the photo’s a little misleading. It details how the Turks once held a height of power in the company, and talks about how little is known about them, and then how one day they suddenly seemed to die out after suspected insurrection against the company. But the article claims to have spotted Turks working over an extended period in the Sector Five slums, their motives unclear.

A second page of the article includes a second picture - a candid, undercover-style shot from the Sector Five slums. Sure enough, there in the middle of a marketplace, stand Reno and his tall bald friend - could that be the “Rude” Tseng mentioned on the phone the other day? The caption claims that Turks can be identified by their “signature” black suits.

What is this, fashion week? I close the laptop and slump backwards in my chair.

Holy fucking shit, they  _ are _ Turks. Which means that I am in  _ deep. _ My new friends - new  _ crushes, _ I finally admit to myself - are the most feared assassins in the world. Waaaay too deep. Over-my-head deep.

What the fuck am I going to do?

I… can’t do anything, can I? I’m stuck now. They’re not going to let me out of this after the things I’ve seen. And oh my gods, the  _ things I have seen _ . None of these articles speculate about kinky happenings. I’m sure the public wouldn’t have the slightest idea. 

Still, at this point, I’m sure I know too much.  _ Much _ too much now, I bet. There’s no leaving, no turning back. I’m along for the ride forever now.

All I can do is try to enjoy it and not fall to my death. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Heavy petting

The next morning, I come in feeling way too tired. I hadn’t slept well last night - my anxiety kept me up. I don’t know how to approach this topic, or even if I _ should _ approach it. This doesn’t have to change anything, right? They were Turks before, they’re still Turks now. Nothing has changed but my perception, and to some degree, I am in control of that. 

There’s an email waiting for me when I sit down. From Tseng.

_ “Lane -  _

_ Apologies for more short-notice work, but the VP is scheduled for a business meeting in Junon today, and would like someone to cover the photo ops. He would prefer that photographer to be you, and would very much appreciate if you can make it work. You’d be accompanied by a few of us at all times. _

_ Please let me know ASAP if you can take on this opportunity. _

_ Tseng _

_ Director, Administrative Research _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

Okay. Deep breaths, Lane. You can do this. 

A trip to Junon is not something I was expecting today, by any means. But, once again, I don’t feel like I have much choice. Not like I had much else to do today anyway. Knowing what I know now, I  _ especially _ don’t want to piss any of these guys off. 

_ “Tseng -  _

_ I would be glad to cover this opportunity. Let me know where I need to be, and when. Will I need any specialized equipment or lighting today? _

_ Thanks _

_ Lane Elliott _

_ Principle Photographer, PR _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

I pull out my phone, but I’ve barely got a game loaded by the time my computer dings with a response notification. Damn, he types fast. 

_ “Lane - _

_ No special equipment, just your camera and a fresh SD card. Make sure you don’t bring any that have been used for previous shoots. _

_ Please be in the lobby at 9:45. I’ll have someone direct you to where you’ll be headed. Bring a jacket, if you have one.  _

_ Tseng _

_ Director, Administrative Research _

_ Shinra Electric Power Company” _

I sigh. I do not, in fact, have a jacket - since it’s the middle of summer here. Why would I have a jacket today?

Wait, how are we going to get to Junon? There’s no way to drive there and back in one day. My anxiety bubbles up again as I realize we’ll probably be flying - I’ve never flown on a plane before, and I’m somewhat unnerved by heights. But this anxiety is admittedly very different from what I’d felt yesterday - it’s almost exhilarating. I’m hoping this will be exciting and not utterly terrifying. I’m… not great with heights. 

The morning rolls by pretty quickly - I only have 45 minutes to get everything ready, but it doesn’t take that much time to grab a fresh SD card and pack up my camera. I double-check that the used SD cards, filled with all the lovely pictures from the last shoots, are staying here in my locked office. You know, with the exception of the headshots that started this whole fiasco, this is going to be my first time shooting Rufus in a setting that isn’t boudoir. I’ve done plenty of this already, of course; I’m not too scared. But it’s an interesting thought - I suppose I’ve only just scratched the surface of what this job will entail over time. 

At 9:40, I get in the elevator and ride it down to the lobby. I wait patiently by the doors, scanning the crowd that walks by for black suits. I do see a few, but none of them are Turks. Or, at least, I don’t _ think _ any of them are Turks. I have no way of knowing yet how many of them there are. 

At 9:46, the elevators near me open, and I see Reno standing inside. He spots me and waves me over into the elevator with him.

“Hey kid, you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” I answer quietly. Reno swipes a card in the elevator console and types in a code. The LCD screen informs me that we’re headed to the heliport level. Heliport…? Oh shit, I was mentally preparing for a plane, not a fucking  _ helicopter. _

Reno straightens up and looks me up and down.

“No jacket?” he asks.

“Not today,” I say quietly. Before I know what’s going on, Reno stuffs something against my chest. 

“Tseng had a feelin’ that would be the case. Here - this is one of my civvy jackets. You can borrow it.”

“...Thanks,” I gingerly take what he’s given me. It’s a black bomber-style jacket emblazoned with the Shinra logo on the back, and looks like it will be the right size for me. It smells strongly of cigarettes - not ideal, but I’ll live. I slip it on in silence.

“You good, kid?” Reno asks, “You’re actin’ all quiet today. Cat got your tongue?”

I hesitate. Still about forty floors to go - this is gonna take a while. Now is as good a time as any… But is Reno the right guy to ask? Well, it’s now or never. 

“Reno,” I start shakily, “... How many Turks are there?” That’s the biggest question on my mind at the moment.

Reno looks down at me and grins.

“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna figure that out,” he says, stretching his arms, “Just the four of us. Plus Rufus, sorta. I don’t think you’ve met Rude yet, have you?”

“Is that the tall bald guy with the glasses?” I ask. Reno snorts, but I’m not sure what part of what I said was funny. 

“Yep, that’s him,” he answers, “He’s gonna be flyin’ you guys today, so I’ll introduce you two when we get upstairs. You’re gonna like him - he looks tough, but deep down he’s just a big softie.”

I smile for the first time all morning as Reno describes this guy. He doesn’t seem so bad at all. 

We do eventually reach the top of the building, where the helipad apparently lies. The elevator doors open, and I follow Reno out into the chilly air. Even though it’s the height of summer, it’s pretty cold all the way up here. The jacket makes a lot of sense, and despite the smell, I’m glad to have it. 

The heliport consists of rows and rows of choppers, all lined up next to one another. Ground crew members buzz around, pausing at the different birds to inspect or repair something on them. Reno walks me almost all the way to the end, stopping at the third to last helicopter on the left. 

The tall guy - Rude - appears, hopping out of the pilot’s seat in the front of the craft. He walks over and meets us in front.

“Hey, partner,” Reno addresses him, “Gonna let me introduce you to the newbie?”

“The one you all keep talking about?” Rude replies. His voice is deep and smooth - to be honest, it’s quite sexy. I resent the fact that that’s my first impression of him, but, well, if the pattern of what’s been going on continues...

“Heh, yep. This is Lane, the boss’s photographer. And this is my partner, Rude.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say politely, reaching my hand out toward him. He takes it in a firm grip and gives it a single deliberate shake, accompanied by a head nod. Reno’s addressing him as his “partner” really catches my attention - I thought Reno was partnered with Tseng, or Rufus? Or maybe they just all play together, and he’s really partnered to Rude? Gods, these guys have a seriously complicated relationship structure…

I can also see what Reno meant about Rude looking pretty intimidating. I had picked that up to a certain degree from glimpsing him in passing, but up close, he’s a lot more daunting. He tops me by at least eight inches, and a swear each of his thighs is as big around as my waist. And I am not a skinny person. Even below the suit, I can tell that he has a very muscular build. 

Well, Reno also said that he’s a softie at heart. I gotta give him a real chance, and not let myself get distracted by fear. 

Even though he’s apparently a Turk and could probably snap me in half like a toothpick.

“I gotta get moving, but the bosses will be here soon,” Reno says, stepping backward, “Gotta get back to Laney and hold down the fort. I’ll see you guys later - have a good trip.”

“Thanks!” I call after him. Man, it’s noisy up here, what with the wind blowing and all. I turn around to see if Rude needs any help... If there’s anything I would actually be able to help with - I doubt there is. He’s leaning against the side of the helicopter, looking at me.

“You ever been on a helicopter before?” he asks. His voice is so low that he doesn’t have to talk loudly - I can hear him just fine.

“No,” I reply, having to shout a little louder to get over the wind, “I’ve never flown before.”

Rude beckons me to follow him, and after only a few seconds of hesitation, I step along. He slides open the back door of the helicopter, and climbs inside. I peek around, surprised by how much space there is in there. He steps up into the cockpit in the front, and sits down in the pilot’s seat on the right. 

“Might as well come in,” he calls over his shoulder, “Not as windy in here. Boss will be here soon.”

I step up into the cabin - is it called a cabin on a helicopter? - and sit on one of the seats in the back. From my angle, I can see Rude working over the console, clicking button after button and flipping switches. He pulls a heavy-looking headset over his ears and begins to softly speak into it, continuing to mess with the controls as he goes.

He doesn’t really say anything else to me for a few minutes, absorbed in his task and letting me sit in silence in the back of the chopper. After a little bit, I pull out my phone and resume the mobile game I was playing earlier. 

It effectively distracts me until Rude suddenly turns back to look at me and speaks.

“Nervous?” he asks. I blush. Is it that obvious already?

“I mean… yeah, a little,” Part of me screams to look cool in front of this guy, but honesty wins out in the end. Maybe that lecture over Tseng’s knee last weekend did have a real effect.

“It’s a good day for flying,” Rude says, turning back around to flip some more switches, “Not much wind, and clear skies. Gonna be a real nice view. You can come sit up here and look out, if you want.”

Sit in the copilot’s seat? No fucking thank you - I feel like staring out into the abyss of the sky will make me pass out. But his offer tugs some kind of strange nostalgia from my chest. I feel like there was a time when I was younger, when my parents took me and my sister to a Shinra recruiting event, and they let me see the helicopters. A pilot had offered to let me, about age four, sit in the seat and pretend to steer, but I’d been too shy.

Some things never change.

“No thanks,” I say, “Feels a little more... contained back here.”

Rude smiles, a soft look (I think - hard to tell from the shades), then stands, taking off the headset and heading back towards the door once again. He steps back onto the ground. I, not knowing what else to do, stand and follow him. In front of the helicopter’s nose, Rude’s stance is straight and tall, his hands folded in front of him and looking out toward the building again. I step around him, and try to figure out what he’s looking at.

Rufus and Tseng are headed toward us. Rufus has that strange white belt-coat on again, and it flutters dramatically in the wind. I watch as they approach and pull Reno’s jacket tighter around myself.

“Good morning, Rude,” Rufus greets when he gets within earshot, “Good morning, Lane. Good to see you again.”

I smile and wave at the two of them, getting some reserved smiles in return. The four of us head back toward the helicopter’s side door, and one by one, we climb inside. As Rude closes the door and makes his way to the pilot’s seat, Tseng and Rufus sit down on the passenger seats on the right side of the cabin. They leave a seat between them.

“Here, Lane,” Rufus says, indicating the empty seat, “Sit here.” 

I sit down in the exact same seat I’d been in before. It’s already a little warm from when I’d been sitting there last, and it feels very nice in the cold up here. As I sit, Tseng looks me over.

“Good - Reno gave you a jacket,” he says, “For the future, please keep one in your office for moments like these. A spare change of clothes would be wise, too - just in case.” 

I don’t want to ask why I’d need a change of clothes right now - I’m happy to just get myself situated. Rufus watches me.

“Put your camera bag on the floor, Lane,” he says, “Here - between the seats. It’s safest there.”

I lean down and look at the floor below me. Sure enough, there’s a big enough gap in the seat supports for me to stash my camera bag out of the way. It takes me a minute to work it in there carefully, not crushing the bag too much as I go.

“Do you need help getting strapped in?” Tseng asks, standing again and stepping in front of me. He doesn’t let me answer before he reaches down on either side of my legs and clicks a lap belt in place, followed by the chest harness. He’s unafraid to grab my wrist and guide my arms where they’re needed, and I blush as I realize that I’m not about to stop him. I’d started to say no, then yielded so quickly… Damn. He could play me like a fucking fiddle. 

“Here,” he says, moving up toward the cockpit. Rude must know what he’s doing, because he hands three headsets to him. Tseng hands one off to Rufus, who puts it on with no effort whatsoever, and then puts his own pair on. Finally, he steps over to me again and puts the cups of the headphones over my ears himself. 

“That’s better,” I hear a voice speak through the earpieces as Tseng adjusts the band to sit snugly against my hair. Rufus smiles at me and continues, “Now we’ll be able to chat once the engine starts up.”

Tseng returns to his seat, securing his own harness in less than six seconds. He knows exactly what he’s doing - I bet he’s done this hundreds of times. 

“Your mic is live, Lane, so just talk into it if you want to say anything,” Tseng explains as he adjusts, “If you don’t want to be heard, you can move the microphone away from your face.”

“Okay,” I say, reaching up to find the mic. I toy with it gently as I try to calm down. Now that I’m sitting still, I realize that I’m starting to shiver and shake out of anxiety. This hunk of metal is not all that big and, despite the relative comfort of being between Rufus and Tseng, I still can’t keep my cool one-hundred percent. 

“Are you excited for the trip?” Rufus asks. He sounds crystal clear through the headset, like he’s talking right in my ear. 

“I... am excited,” I say, “And, um… A little nervous.”

“Nervous about flying, or about the destination?” Tseng asks, “I’d be happy to give you a more detailed rundown of what you’ll be doing today.”

“A bit of both, I guess. I’ve never flown before. And… a rundown would be nice,” I answer. Tseng nods, and launches into it.

“The VP has been called to conduct an audit of the company’s Junon facility...” he explains, “...Which is a bit of a glorified photo op. It will consist of a tour and a brief business meeting, which we need photographed. All you need to do today is keep to the sidelines and get those pictures. Just stay close to me and Rude, and you’ll be in the right place. Understood?”

“Understood,” I answer. I admit, that did help quite a lot - I hate going into jobs blind - but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m sitting in a fucking piece of metal that’s about to lift itself into the sky. My leg starts to bounce - anything to curb the shaking. 

“Pad to ground, this is Bird 6,” Rude’s deep voice suddenly rings through my ears, “Systems check complete, all systems go. Requesting permission to prime engine and prepare for liftoff.” 

Oh gods oh fuck, it’s happening. 

“Hey - don’t be nervous,” Rufus’s voice breaks the silence again, “We’re right here. Nothing to be afraid of.”

Sitting in a helicopter with two Turks and a man who is famous for how many times he’s been kidnapped? Yeah, absolutely  _ nothing _ to be afraid of, Rufus. Sure. The shaking picks up as my confidence wavers and the airwaves melt into short-lived silence.

“Bird 6, this is ground,” an unfamiliar voice blasts through the headset, “You’re clear on our end. No flight traffic today - go ahead and engage, and we’ll clear the pad.”

In the distance, I hear the intercom echo through the helipad hangar space. I can’t make any of it out though, and I’m thoroughly distracted anyway as the helicopter’s engine roars to life.

Okay, well, realistically, it isn’t “roaring” to life any more than a typical car engine would. It has an overarching airy screen to the sound - the air filters, I guess, making sure that we can still breathe when we’re thousands and thousands of feet off the ground. 

Fuck, I’m already dizzy.

I can just barely see it through the front windshield, but something moves, seemingly right above us. As I gaze, another dark shape makes the same movements. It takes a second before I realize that those are the tips of the propeller blades, slowly revving up, bit by bit. It’s hypnotic, in a weird way, but instead of being calming it just redoubles my panic. I can’t get off if I wanted to - I’m effectively trapped. In an attempt to calm myself, I take a deep, shaky breath. 

Rufus and Tseng both turn to look at me at the same time, and I nervously exchange my glance between their eyes. Moving slowly, Rufus puts a hand on my thigh.

“Just breathe,” he says, “I promise, flying is not a big deal.”

_ Maybe not to you, but it sure as shit is to me. _

Tseng copies the move, laying his hand on my lap. His palm faces up.

“Take my hand,” he instructs me.

I don’t realize until right then that I’ve been white-knuckling the shoulder straps of my harness. Convincing myself to unglue my hand is a challenge in and of itself, but eventually I manage, jumping my hand between my start and end points as fast as I can. Tseng matches my grip strength, and already I can feel the sweat from my palms collecting on the leather of his glove. Fuck, I’m going to make them all gross…

“Lane,” he says, calling me back to focus, “You’re safe. Breathe.”

This is embarrassing in the kind of way that I don’t like. I feel like a crybaby - why am I struggling so much? In a weird kind of way, that thought actually helps - I take a deep, slow breath and loosen my deathgrip on Tseng’s hand. I’m still shaky, but right now I’m more worried about looking cool than I am about the fact that the helicopter blades are now moving fast enough to look like a blur. It’s loud now - plenty loud enough to hear through the headphones. I imagine that without the ear protection, it would be deafening. 

And then, the strange sensation of flight.

Well, so much for looking cool. My deathgrip returns as Rude slowly eases the craft into the air, straight up. I can feel it swaying, but he seems calm and practiced, which is immensely helpful. Tseng holds me tightly, and I feel Rufus move his hand from my thigh to my shoulder strap, where the other hand is located. He has to fight my hold, but eventually he pries my fingers off the strap and takes my other hand in his. My eyes are squeezed shut now - I feel like if I open them I’ll get so dizzy that I’ll throw up.

“Bird 6 to ground, we’ve cleared the pad. We’ll see you later.”

“Roger, Bird 6. Have a nice trip.”

I dare to peek, cracking my eyes open just the slightest bit. The helicopter rocks forward, and for a second there I feel like we’re going to nosedive back down into Midgar, but instead we move forward. I’m not dead yet - we’re okay.

Alright, back to looking cool. Or, as cool as I can get while I stare at the floor of the helicopter. I admit it - I really like these guys, despite their terrifying flaws of sorts. I want them to like me. I want…

_ Fuck. _

I swear, sex has become a straight-up catch-all coping mechanism for me. My mind begins to drift away into a fantasy as I feel the heat from both men on my sides… Two warm hands against my own. Oh, wait… We’re holding hands, aren’t we? For the very first time. And I’m only just now registering that fact because I’ve been too panicked. This should be way sweeter than it is, and I begin to melt down into the warmth of their fingers laced through mine. Gods, I can’t keep from imagining how they’d feel… somewhere else. 

My breathing slows and I finally manage to stop shaking as I fantasize, regaining control of my situation by escaping into my own head, where I do actually have some modicum of control. Out there? Not so much.

I’m halfway broken from my fantasy as I feel Rufus’s hand split away from mine. I go to follow it, but it lands back on my thigh - somewhat higher than before.

“Ahh...”

Woah, did I just moan? Some kind of noise definitely came out of me. Guess it doesn’t help that I was just thinking about getting fucked endlessly. 

Well… I mean, it’s noisy up here - doubtful that they heard anything. I let another hot rush of breath leave me, trying to keep my chest from moving too much in the process, and I let those fantasies start to verbalize themselves just a little.

“Mm… Fuck, hah…”

“Lane?” Rufus says, his voice cutting clearly through my headset.  _ Fuck, live mic. _ I totally forgot. They heard every bit of that, didn’t they? I glance up to see who might’ve been privy, and I can see Tseng and Rufus - and even Rude - all looking at me. 

Rude turns back to the console, but not before I catch a grin on his lips. 

“And here I thought you said you were  _ afraid _ of heights,” Tseng says, smirking. His hand detaches from mine as well, and matches Rufus’s on my thigh, rubbing gently. Oh shit, is this really happening? Right  _ now? _

“Well, let’s not jump to conclusions,” Rufus says, shifting his hand further up, “They may very well dislike heights, but… Well, a little  _ comfort _ is all it really takes sometimes, isn’t it?” One finger runs up the length of the center seam on my slacks. The seam is lifted from my skin, but I can feel the vibrations of the movement surround the crotch of my pants and ripple through to my bones. 

The helicopter shifts to the side somewhat, tilting and redirecting my attention again as Rude turns it. We’re so high up now; I look straight out the window. The ocean is sprawled out before us, and soon we’ll be flying over it. I suppose that makes sense - the quickest way to Junon is to fly over the sea. 

In this morning sunlight, it’s actually really beautiful. More beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen before, in fact.

Until a hand presses harder against my pussy. The stars I see right then might just top out the view. 

“Ohhh…” Another moan pours out of me before I can stop as Rufus pulls my attention back to him. Fuck, he’s good at doing that, isn’t he? His hand gently strokes against me, and I struggle to rut against it, restrained by the lap belt.

“Hope you’re not having too much fun back there without me,” Rude’s deep velvet voice speaks in my ear. In my field of view, he glances backwards and flashes us a smirk of his own.

“Oh, I’m hardly touching them,” Rufus says, pushing a little harder and pulling another moan from my chest. I can’t help myself, especially when they’re talking over me like this.

“Loud little thing, aren’t they?” Rude remarks. His comment redoubles my moaning, despite my best attempts to quiet down. 

On my thigh, Tseng’s hand shifts. Instead of grabbing me, however, I can feel that he takes Rufus by the wrist.

“As much fun as we’re all having,” he says, “I think it’s probably not wise to get ourselves too riled up before landing for a very  _ public _ appearance. This might be better saved for another time and place.”

Rufus sighs loudly, but ultimately recoils his wrist.

“I suppose you’re right,” he says, sounding less than pleased with Tseng’s call. Even then, he still listens to him. That surprises me more than anything else, I think. Rufus ultimately settles for resting his hand on my knee, squeezing gently on occasion as he toys with me.

Even then, he eventually gets bored and shifts. Tseng turns to the side and begins working on something - I can’t tell what from this angle. Not my business, I’m guessing.

My eyes drift forward, gazing out toward the horizon as it stretches in front of us. I have no idea how long this flight will be, so I resolve to try to enjoy it as much as possible. Now that we’re in the air, things seem much more calm and still, and even though I still have butterflies in my stomach, I’m not feeling outright panicked anymore. In all honesty, I’m finding that I regret not taking Rude up on his offer to sit up front. This is a thrill ride, not a death trap. 

How did I get here? I find myself wondering that for maybe the eighth time in the last two weeks, and sigh as I recount the events that led to now. You know, Jenny might’ve actually been right - her food poisoning might’ve just been a work of fate. If fate exists, I guess. No other good explanations for how I managed to end up in this situation - promoted from an intern to sitting between a Turk and the VP of the company. What the fuck, Lane. 

This is not an outcome I ever could have predicted when I moved to Midgar three years ago. I remember thinking then that it didn’t matter where I ended up, as long as it wasn’t where I’d been. This world is just so big - I could’ve gone just about anywhere. I didn’t think Midgar was where I was going to end up staying, but right now? I feel like this might be exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I realize that, for the first time since I was a kid, I actually feel genuinely happy right now, despite it all.

I don’t let myself get too introspective - that’s a slippery slope with me. I don’t want to be thinking about the past right now, I want to think about the future in front of me. And my immediate future involves taking some badass pictures of Rufus to send to PR. 

I lean forward to retrieve my camera bag from between the seats, thinking about how I should adjust the settings based on today’s light and what I’ll be photographing. As I bend down, however, I remember that I’m caught by the shoulder straps of the harness. Damn - guess I’m gonna have to wait.

I do get just enough leeway to glance around Tseng’s turned form, trying to sneak a peek at what he’s doing. 

I wish I hadn’t.

The glint of metal catches me off-guard. He’s holding a handgun, bullets scattered on the seat next to him. He’s cleaning the gun carefully with a small square of cloth, and I find I can’t look away as he picks up the bullets and slots them into the weapon. It’s a jarring reminder that Tseng has a body count - and not in the bedroom sense.

_ How many people has he killed? _

I lean back in my seat, forcing myself to avert my eyes. I try to relax, and gaze out the window again, allowing myself to get distracted by the sunlight shining off the water. 

That would make a really great picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Wednesday chapter!! I like this arc too much lol, and I didn't want to spam post a bunch of chapters all on Saturday. So enjoy this one as a teaser for what's to come :P If you wanna be the first to know when this fic updates, scroll to the top of the page and hit "Subscribe!"


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Teasing

It isn’t much longer before Junon comes into sight. The fortress towers over a town on the shore, and Rude expertly navigates us toward a wide airfield. 

“Tower, this is Bird 6,” Rude breaks our long silence, speaking through the headset, “Requesting permission to land.”

“Permission granted, Bird 6. You are cleared for landing in Section 1,” a brusque voice speaks back. 

Rufus and Tseng shift, and Tseng subtly tucks his gun back into his suit - a shoulder holster, I’m guessing. Rufus pulls out his phone and looks at his reflection in the darkened screen, diligently adjusting the way his hair falls in strands across his forehead. I see no need to preen like that - I just want to get my camera adjusted. I premeditate how I’ll set it - Manual will get me the best shots, provided I have the time to take a few test pics first and then adjust my exposure. I want these to be perfect - they need to look as good as Rufus does.

The helicopter slowly drops down onto the tarmac, dipping lower and lower and causing my stomach to somersault repeatedly until the skids set down on the ground. Rude cuts the engine, and the noise begins to dial back.

Rufus and Tseng are already freed from their shoulder harnesses and headsets, but I can’t figure out how to free myself from the harness. I didn’t put it on, after all - no clue how to take it off. Tseng notices me struggling, and reaches to help me.

“Lane, can you hear me?” he asks over the beating decrescendo of the rotor blades.

“Yeah,” I nod, then bend down to retrieve my camera.

“You and Rude are going to get off first,” he informs me, “Rude is going to clear a path, and we’d like you to find a spot where you can get some good shots of Rufus disembarking. There will be a few higher-ups ready for handshakes right away, and we’d like pictures of that if possible.”

“Yes, Sir,” I say, slipping the camera’s neck strap over my head, “Just, pick a spot?”

“Yes. Feel free to follow us in as we pass you. Do you have your badge ready?”

“Yep!” I reach under Reno’s jacket and show my Shinra ID card, hung from a lanyard around my shirt collar. It clearly identifies me as a photographer.

Tseng takes it in his hand and squints at it.

“Didn’t they send you an updated ID?” he asks.

“Um… Yes? This is the updated one,” I say.

“Damn it, there’s no security clearance listed on here,” he frowns, “I’ll have to have a word with HR when we get back. That could become an annoyance today - you may not be able to enter certain rooms on the tour. Just keep as close to us as you can, and wait where you’re directed to.”

“O-Okay,” I stutter. Of course I’m going to become an annoyance. Should’ve guessed. I put the camera bag back on the seat and turn on my camera so I can adjust the settings. Tseng turns to Rufus and straightens his collar, making those last few fine-tuning adjustments.

Rude has stepped back up to the side door, and puts his gloved hand on the latch, preparing to slide it open. He turns and looks at me.

“Ready?” he asks.

One last exposure adjustment, then I step up to the door and nod.

“Ready.”

Rude pulls the latch, and the door slides open effortlessly in his grip. He stops it at about the halfway mark, keeping Rufus concealed so far. Rude steps off first, and I follow closely behind. 

Seems like Rude isn’t needed to help clear a path - infantry officers hold guns against their chests in formation, creating a barricade from the crowd. And, oh my gods, what a crowd it is. It seems like most folks are Shinra employees, their clothing business casual, and ID badges fluttering in the residual wind of the helicopter blades. They make no noise yet, waiting in silent anticipation.

And… Holy shit, every single one of these people has a camera or phone pointed at me. 

I’ve been nervous to shoot events before, but at least then I get the sanctity of knowing that the cameras aren’t on  _ me _ . Despite my line of work, I detest being in photographs myself. I’d always rather be behind the lens than in front of it, and having so many pointed at me at the same time is giving me some major stage fright. It takes effort to get my feet down on the ground.

Focus, Lane. None of these people want to take pictures of you. They’re waiting for Rufus. I need to get my head in the game and pick a spot to get pictures. I step about twenty feet back from the helicopter and shimmy as close to the wall of guards as I possibly can, then squat down. Right now I’m on the left side of the aisle, but if Rufus happens to turn the other way, I’ll need to reverse and get to the right. Holding the camera sight up to my face recenters me, and I join the crowd in silent waiting, lenses pointing at the open helicopter door. 

Within a few heartbeats, Rufus’s form appears in the doorway. In the time it takes me to focus the picture and snap it, the crowd explodes. It isn’t cheering necessarily, but crying for attention - everyone trying to get Rufus to look their way for a good photograph. I’ve never been one for paparazzi opportunities. 

Three men approach Rufus from the sides, led in by infantrymen. I’m positioned just right, and I begin working as Rufus shakes their hands. Soon, the greetings wear out and the men begin walking down the aisle, right toward me. A few more shots of this executive parade, and then before I know it I’m on my feet again to follow. Tseng brings up the rear of the group, and I find a spot next to him to fall in line.

“Good job so far,” he tells me, leaning in and speaking lowly, “Now we follow the tour. Just keep close.”

I nod, clutching my camera tightly to my chest. Adrenaline pumps through my system as I try to appear as professional as everyone around me, though in all honesty that’s pretty difficult when I’m in a bomber jacket and everyone else is in three-piece suits. Well, except Rufus in that belt-coat thing again. I will admit - I don’t get it.

Rude pushes past us, heading back toward the helicopter. I suppose he probably needs to make sure that it stays safe. Rufus has plenty of security right now.

We’re led through the Junon facility, stopping to look into offices and then toward laboratories. I don’t pay too much attention - just snap photos every now and again as we go. Just outside the labs, I’m stopped.

“Hold it,” a guard says, observing my badge, “This area is for authorized personnel only. You’re not cleared.”

“Yes, Sirs,” I say, backing up a few steps. Tseng turns to look at me, and I wave him on.

“I’ll wait here,” I say. Tseng acknowledges my promise with a nod and the tiniest hint of a smile, which tells me that I did the right thing. 

I set up against a wall nearby, resting my feet after an already-long walk. Normally I’m good at looking blended-in, but with both these guards staring at me now in this otherwise-empty hallway, I feel very conspicuous. I’m clearly out-of-place here - we’re in the military side of the operation, and I might be the only civilian in this wing of the facility. A pang of guilt settles back down in my chest as I remember how Tseng referred to this inconvenience as an “annoyance.” I wish I were anywhere but here. Frustrating, too, that this mistake was beyond my control.

But still, it’s interesting to learn that I’m apparently getting security clearance. I suppose that makes sense - the sheer existence of the Turks seems to be very hush-hush, so I’m guessing it’s likely that I’ll be privy to some confidential information time and time again. I find myself wondering exactly what they’re looking at in there. I’ve heard that Junon is mostly a military facility, so I’m guessing that whatever they’re looking at involves weaponry and war. 

War.

...That’s right, I’d forgotten. Junon is where my sister Amelie was stationed before the Wutai War started.

That recollection casts a new light on these halls. I look down the way we’d come. I look at the ceiling, and the floor, and the walls. I watch people walk past at the hallway’s intersection. 

How much of it would she remember, if she were still here?

I’m interrupted by the door reopening. Rufus and our tour guide exit first, followed by the other VIPs and Tseng. How long was that? I don’t even know, I lost track of time. 

Whatever - doesn’t really matter. I’m glad to fall back in formation, and we move as a unit back up toward the offices. 

Our final stop of the day is a lavish conference room, clearly designed for executive board meetings. There are a few more suits in here, and I quickly find a corner and resume my picture-taking as more handshakes and business formalities are exchanged. Tseng steps over into my corner, keeping silent as I take my pictures, until the VIPs begin to take their seats and launch into a proper meeting.

After a few shots of the meeting from different angles around the room (taking care not to get in the way of anything), I return to Tseng’s side in the corner and lower my camera. With anyone else, the closeness might be uncomfortable, but the feel of Tseng’s suit sleeve against the material of my jacket instead courses through me like electricity. Despite our glaring proximity, I still almost wish to be closer to him… Bent over his knee like I was on Friday night…

Every few minutes, I manage to pull myself out of my own head long enough to raise my camera back up and snap a few pictures, but as soon as I lower the camera my brain floats away again. I think about Rufus’s domineering stature over Reno on Monday in the studio, and about how Reno’s ass looked after he’d been paddled. I’m not a heavy bottom when it comes to impact play, but fuck, I’d pay a lot of money to get spanked by Rufus Shinra.

I smile to myself as I recall that I probably don’t  _ have _ to pay a lot of money to play with Rufus Shinra. Half of this planet probably feels the same way, but somehow I’m the bastard who got lucky enough to actually get it. I’m not convinced yet that I’m the most deserving person out there - I mean, I’m nothing special - but fuck if I’m not gonna take this bull by the horns and milk it for every ounce of pleasure I can get.

Oh my fuck, that analogy did  _ not _ work.

Or… On second thought, maybe it did?

Gods, I’m a pervert. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Before long, the meeting wraps up. Another round of handshakes are had, and then, out of nowhere, Rufus gestures to me.

“What’s say we get a photo of the group?” he asks. The group murmurs in affirmation, and begin to arrange themselves against one of the longer walls.

“It’s interesting to see you letting a photographer follow you around, Mr. Vice President,” one gentleman says, “I was under the impression that you didn’t care for cameras.”

“I don’t care for paparazzi,” Rufus corrects him, “Lane here is highly skilled. Their professionalism is refreshing, and I can appreciate that. They’re working as my principle photographer now.”

The man gives me a glance, a pleased look on his face. He almost looks pleasantly surprised. I see that Rufus’s reputation of photographer-hating precedes him.

The group bunches together, and they require minimal direction from me. When I’ve got them all in place, I focus the shot.

“Alright everyone - three, two, one!”

I snap a couple pictures. Most of the executives are smiling. Rufus is not. But… he isn’t really frowning, either. He’s straight-faced, looking right at me. Compared to the glowering look he’d given me when I took his headshots, this is a marked improvement. Not a smile yet, but getting there. 

I lower the camera and grin, excusing the group and allowing them to mill about for a few minutes. Rufus gets caught up in conversation, and I move to take a step backwards - seeking to return to my corner of the room next to Tseng. But I don’t get too far - as I scan the crowd, I lock eyes with the gentleman who’d asked about me. He’s got his sights set on me, and barrels right over, grinning.

“Hello there,” he says. He has a brown mustache hanging over his lips - it reminds me of President Shinra’s, “I don’t believe I’ve caught your name yet. Lane…?”

“Lane Elliott, Sir,” I say, extending my hand to meet his. He gives it a firm shake, “And yours?”

“Bernard Ervin, Executive Operations Manager here at the Junon facility,” he says proudly, wiggling his mustache, “So the Vice President tells me that you’re his principle photographer? That’s quite an accomplishment, you know! Rufus has always hated being in pictures, ever since he was a boy.”

“Heh… thanks,” I say, feeling ever awkward.

“Why, I remember one time… He must’ve been about four years old when his father brought him along for an audit just like this one, and when the photographer tried to get Rufus to pose for a picture, why, he ran over and bit her! Oh, how we laughed! And then there was the time…”

I get the sense that this guy just likes to hear himself talk. I’m only half-listening to the stories of Rufus’s childhood (which, frankly, are rather cute), when I notice that the man himself is gazing at me over Mr. Ervin’s shoulder. Rufus is surrounded by others, but his eyes are focused squarely on me. When I meet his gaze, he flashes me a playful smile. 

Oh damn, there go the butterflies again. I blush and try to refocus on Mr. what’s-his-name in front of me, but in my peripheral, Rufus moves - headed this way.

“Bernard, my friend - I see you’ve been introduced to Lane,” he cuts into the conversation, resting a hand on my shoulder as he joins us.

“Oh yes, I was just telling them all about your feelings toward photographers…” he glances at Rufus’s hand on my shoulder, “Or, perhaps I should say your  _ former _ feelings toward photographers. I’m not sure what makes Lane so different, but I must say that I’m glad you’ve come around, my boy!” Bernard leans over and, being too short to reach Rufus’s shoulder, gives him a solid pat on the arm, “I bet your father’s proud!” 

Rufus doesn’t say anything in return for a few seconds. The look on his face isn’t a happy one. Finally, he turns back to glance at Tseng.

“It’s been…  _ nice _ chatting, but we really should be getting on soon,” he says. The tone of his voice has changed entirely. He lifts his hand and makes a small circle in the air with one finger, and Tseng promptly pulls his phone from his pocket and makes a fast call.

“Oh, of course! I always look forward to your visits, Mr. Vice President. You’re always welcome to stop by if you’re in the area - I’d be happy to arrange lunch!”

“Hm,” Rufus hardly gives him a response before turning toward the door, pushing me along with a firm grip on my shoulder. Tseng meets us at the doorway, and the three of us stride out into the hallway.

It’s a walk in silence for a few meters, then Rufus loosens his grip on my shoulder.

“You’re lucky I was able to come to your rescue,” he says with a breathy laugh, “Bernard will talk for hours if you let him.”

He doesn’t seem so angry anymore. I feel the tension relax, and I smile.

“Thanks for saving me,” I say.

“What exactly did he tell you about me?” Rufus asks, his voice somewhat quieter.

“Oh… I… wasn’t really listening, to be honest. He told me one story about how you bit a photographer when you were little.”

Tseng almost snorts with laughter, hiding his face behind his hand. Rufus sighs in exasperation.

“I swear, he tells that story to anyone who’ll hear it,” Rufus balks, “It’s like it’s the only thing he remembers about me.”

I laugh along with Tseng. Rufus seems to know his way around this building, guiding us effortlessly to the exit. I suppose, if he’s been doing these audits since he was a kid, that it makes sense that he knows his way through these halls. I wonder why we ever needed a tour guide in the first place. 

Finally, we reach the door that we came in from. Rude is waiting just inside, and nods in greeting.

“Crowd’s pretty lively,” he says, “The guards had to reinforce the space around the helicopter, so we’re mostly on our own for the walk there.”

“Damn it…” Tseng hisses quietly. He tugs on his gloves and steps back as he thinks for a moment. 

“I think Lane should walk right in front of me,” Rufus says, “You both know I can hold my own against a crowd.”

“Do you have your taser?” Tseng asks. In response, Rufus produces a small metal box from his pocket. Tseng nods, “Keep it close. I’m guessing you’ll need it. Lane, you’ll follow me, and Rude will bring up the rear.”

“What’s going on?” I blurt out. I’m clueless, honestly. Rufus chuckles softly behind me.

“Junon needs to hire more guards,” Tseng sighs tiredly, “We’re going to be mobbed by the crowd on the way out. We’ll be okay - just stay close, and keep a tight hold on your camera. It’s not far.”

I swallow hard and clutch my camera tightly to my chest. Rufus lays his hands on my shoulders for a second, giving me a gentle squeeze of reassurance before letting his hands fall back to his sides.

“I’ve got you,” he says softly. His voice in my ear makes me shiver. 

Tseng pushes open the doors with force, and in an instant my vision is filled with flashing lights. Dozens of cameras all go off at once, and Tseng walks briskly, pushing his way through the crowd. I jog to keep up.

Fuck,  _ now _ the cameras are pointed at me. I feel like I’m going to go blind from this. We’re nearly halfway there now - I can see the helicopter in front of us. The blades are already spinning, producing a wind that compounds the chaos out here.

Suddenly, two hands dart out from the crowd. They latch onto my camera and yank. I shout in panic, pulling back on it.

“Hey!” Tseng is turned around in less than a second and kicks at the would-be thief, not close enough to hit them, but scaring them into letting go. Unfortunately, I don’t get much of a warning, and their sudden release causes me to careen backwards. I shout again, this time out of fear as I close my eyes and wait for my head to smack into the ground.

Instead, an arm wraps around my back and catches me. I open my eyes to find myself gazing up at Rufus’s blue irises.

“You okay?” he asks, helping me up. I nod, but I don’t get any time to recover before he’s pushing against my back. I face forward again and move my feet, catching up fast to Tseng as we continue to ford the river of people. Finally, after way too long under flashing lights, we crash through a wall of guards and shove our way into the helicopter. Rude wastes no time closing the door, and it enables the guards to start pushing back against the crowd, clearing our space.

All four of us stand still for a few seconds, catching our breath. Rude is the first to move, getting his ass back to the pilot’s seat as soon as possible. The rest of us slip on our headsets to dull the noise and sit down where we’d been earlier. Tseng leans over to strap me in again.

“I can do that myself, you know,” I say in a vain adrenaline-fueled attempt to regain my independent footing a little, “I might not be a… a Turk, but I’m not totally incapable.”

Tseng looks up at me. I detect a hint of surprise on his face, but for the most part, his gaze is just intense.

“I know you’re not incapable, Lane,” he says, turning back to my lap belt, “Being a Turk has nothing to do with it. I’m simply doing this for you because we need to get moving quickly. I wanted to help you.”

I blush. My footing was short-lived; I feel myself slipping already.

“You… didn’t ask.”

“Do you want me to ask?”

I hesitate. Do I want that? The opposite is admittedly tempting - having him just take charge and intervene in my independence is hot as hell.

I’ve apparently hesitated too long, because Tseng smirks at me.

“I’ll be more diligent about asking in the future. You can decide to let go whenever you like.”

Gods, he  _ always _ does that - lays out the temptation in front of me and then backs away. He tells me to take my time, but I always feel like it’s now or never. 

“You don’t… always have to ask,” I concede quietly. Rufus chuckles softly through the headset, and I feel myself shrink.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Teasing

Rude reaches up and flips a few switches. His baritone pulses in my ears.

“Bird 6 to tower, requesting permission to take off.”

“Granted, Bird 6. Watch your groundspace for pedestrians.”

The helicopter slowly rises into the air once again, and the butterflies return to me. I’m not nearly as scared this time around, knowing full well now that it’s going to be a safe and relaxing trip back. It isn’t long before we’re well on our way.

My camera bag is still sitting out by my feet, and I carefully untangle my camera from the shoulder harness as I pull the neck strap back over my head. I prepare to put it away, but decide that I’d like to get a look at today’s pictures first. I open the gallery and scroll - wow, these were some great shots this time around. I scroll all the way through once before raising my chin and noticing that I have a screen-peeker. 

“Can I see them?” Rufus asks, grinning at me. I grin back, and carefully hand the camera off to him.

He takes his time scrolling through. Every two or three shots, he comments or laughs softly at something. Often, he leans over me to poke Tseng’s side and show him what he likes about a certain shot. Tseng’s face is mostly straight, but he humors Rufus, gazing at his partner more often than my camera. It’s kind of adorable, actually. The only time his straight face breaks is when Rufus shows him a shot that he happens to be in - in fact, he’s central to the photo. He happened to look very striking against the background, lit by the mako lights in the hallway.

“This one is easily my favorite,” Rufus says with a smile. Tseng scoffs and fumes, then points at me.

“I thought I told you no pictures without permission,” he says sternly. I’d figured he might say that, and I actually have an excuse prepared. 

“Pretty hard to get pictures of the tour without you in any of them,” I say, “I figured business photos were more acceptable.”

He huffs out a sigh, but ultimately just shakes his head tiredly. I take it as a relent, and a small victory.

When Rufus is satisfied that he’s seen every picture at least twice, he finally hands the camera back to me, and I get it turned off and packed back in the camera bag. I hold it in my lap in lieu of stowing it, seeing as I still can’t lean forward to do that as long as I’m strapped in. Instead, I gaze out the window again. It’s just as pretty now as it was this morning - the brighter light casts a more vibrant look over the ocean. I can almost see the shore from here, but not quite.

Tseng taps my shoulder.

“Do you want to go sit up front?” he asks, pointing at the copilot’s seat next to Rude. Rude glances back over his shoulder at me.

“I… I can’t move while we’re flying though, right?”

“Nonsense, of course you can,” Rufus says, patting my knee, “You’re more than welcome to go sit up there.”

“As long as you don’t touch anything,” Tseng adds, “But that’s easy enough. The seat’s moved back too far to hit anything accidentally.”

Well, I did really want to move up there. 

“...Okay,” I finally decide. 

“Here,” Tseng reaches in front of me and undoes the straps and lap belt. I move to stash my camera, but Rufus stops me.

“You can take it with you,” he tells me, “I imagine any photographer would love a helicopter ride. You can get great landscape shots that way.”

Hey, he’s right. I nod and instead extract my camera from the bag again, looping it back over my neck.

“Alright, go ahead and move up there,” Tseng says, “Hold it steady, Rude.”

“A-Aren’t you going to help me?” I ask. My legs are already shaking - I’m not sure I can make it up there all by myself.

Tseng raises an eyebrow at me and smirks.

“I thought you didn’t want any help,” he retorts, “You’re perfectly capable, aren’t you?”

My face burns red-hot. Of course he would - I walked right into that one.

You know what? I won’t give him the satisfaction. I grit my teeth and force myself to stand.

“Woah!” I’d forgotten that the nose of the helicopter is tilted downward to keep us moving forward. I almost instantly lose my footing, and for a second there I’m sure I’m going to wipe out.

Someone gasps over the headset as I flail. Once I find a semblance of balance, I turn my head back to look at Tseng and Rufus. Tseng’s brows are raised, and Rufus has his hand thrust out like he’s ready to catch me if I fall - even though he’s a bit too far away.

“Go ahead,” Tseng gestures toward the seat, “Or are you ready to admit that you need help yet?”

“...I’m fine,” I grumble. Gingerly, I take another step. I can’t believe that I’m managing to stay up at all, especially when the slick, worn-out bottoms of my dress shoes skid on the metal flooring. I really need some new work shoes. Well, maybe the combat boots are appropriate for this position. Rufus wears them, after all - I doubt he’d write me up for being out of uniform over my choice in footwear.

There’s two seats facing inward right by the opening to the cockpit, and I’m able to use them as a sort of checkpoint to grab onto to stop the slippage. Directly in front of me is a dashboard of buttons and switches. To my right is Rude, and to the left is my target seat, wrapped just around the corner. I’ll have to be careful not to slip and fall into the console, but I think I’ve got it from here, as long as I can keep at least two points of contact at all times. Gradually, I worm my way into the seat.

Oh… _Wow_. The view was great from the back, but from here it’s awe-inspiring. I can’t pull my eyes away from it, and almost unconsciously lift my camera to start documenting every second of this that I have.

“Hey,” Rude’s deep voice wakes me back up. He sounds stern, “Strap in first. Not about to have you slippin’ around up here. You got plenty of time to get pictures.”

“Oh, sure,” I say, lowering my camera again. Safety first, of course. I reach to my side to grab the lap belt, but I don’t see it. I switch to the other side and look again. 

There’s... nothing there?

I glance at Rude. He’s looking at me expectantly through the open side of his shades. Fuck, I’ve got to figure this out. Maybe by the shoulders, like the shoulder harnesses in the back?

Ah, bingo - there’s two straps there, one of which has a bulky connector on it. Okay, now to figure this out. I pull the not-so-bulky belt and lean to strap it to the connector beneath it.

“Nope,” Rude says calmly.

Oh… Well, I guess that makes sense. It wouldn’t strap me in that way anyway. I instead try to cross it over to the other side.

“Not it,” Rude says. I whip around to look at him, only to find that he isn’t even looking at me. His eyes are still directed toward the window, but there’s a little smirk on his lips. I hear snickering through the headset - Tseng, or Rufus? My gil is on Tseng, honestly.

Okay… I pull out the other belt and try to find a way to attach the two together. There seems to be an obvious answer, but when I push the connectors together, the belt doesn’t lock. They come right apart again.

“Wrong,” Rude quips. This is getting embarrassing. I huff through the mic, and Rude chuckles back, “Don’t worry, Reno can’t ever get it on his own either.”

As funny as that is, it doesn’t make my situation any better right now. I tug again, despite having just been told that it won’t work, and try to make the puzzle pieces snap into place.

“Lane,” Tseng’s voice makes me cringe - I already know what he’s asking, “Do you want some help?”

I feel my face redden with defiance. I refuse to give in, but… I’m just wasting time now. I don’t think I’ll be able to figure this one out without a hand. 

“I don’t _want_ any help…” I mumble.

“But you _need_ some help?” Rufus says. I sink down lower in the seat.

“...I might,” I growl.

“If you want me to help you, you need to ask me nicely,” Tseng says matter-of-factly. No way around it - he’s going to make me say it.

Unless there _is_ a way around it.

“Hey, Rufus-” I start. Rufus cuts me off.

“No,” is all he says. Well, fuck you too, I guess.

“Rude…?” I attempt.

“Little busy,” Rude reminds me. Fuck, duh. I lean over enough to glance behind me, casting a glare at Tseng. He’s got that characteristic hint of smile on his lips, satisfied by the state he’s got me in. 

“You’re only wasting your own time,” he reminds me, “Whenever you’re ready.”

I’m starting to hate when he does that. I grit my teeth.

“Help please?” I grumble.

“Oh, you can do better than that,” he says. I blush harder.

“Can you please help me?” I try.

“What do you need help with?” Rufus tacks on.

“Can you please help me with the straps?”

“Try addressing him properly,” Rude jumps in now. He’s smiling, and it makes me boil in embarrassment. How long is this going to go on?

“Can you please help me with the straps, Tseng?”

“That’s not how you should properly address me,” Tseng says, shaking his head, “And I can hardly understand you when you’re mumbling like that. Try one more time. I know you can do it.”

I resent how they’re dragging this out. What is this, my fifth try? It’s getting old. 

“Can you please help me with the straps… Sir?” 

“That’s it,” Tseng says. His harness was already undone in anticipation, and he effortlessly glides to my side. I shrink beneath his stature as he leans down and pulls the connector belt over my shoulder, then reaches _under_ the seat and pulls another belt free and up between my legs. Oh, come ON. Why the hell would a belt be there? I’ve been set up for failure here.

Within seconds, Tseng has this ridiculous belt contraption locked in place around me. Before he returns to his seat, he leans down again and lifts my chin to meet him. Our noses are inches away.

“When I ask you to address me properly, I _always_ expect to be addressed as ‘Sir,’” he says in a voice that’s low and stern, “And I expect you to obey _promptly_. Do you understand?”

I’m hypnotized by the leather against my face.

“Yes, Sir,” I can’t help it - it’s automatic when he treats me this way. His hand shifts from my chin to my cheeks, gripping my face in one hand and giving my head a gentle shake.

“There’s a good little copilot,” he purrs, then turns on his heel and returns to the back. I manage to suppress a moan, letting out a shuddered breath instead as I shiver.

I’m left slumped in my seat, secured by the mass of entangled belts as the blush and butterflies dance their finale. Or, at least, I think it’s the finale. Can never really be sure with this group. I try to forget about the feel of his gloves on my face, but I think the sensation has already imprinted. The cut of his gaze and the steel of his voice never fail to turn me into a pathetic little puddle. 

A fiddle. It’s not “He _could_ play me like a fiddle.” He outright does. And I let him. Next time he does that, I swear to gods I’m going to lean in and kiss him. That will shut him up.

Okay, nah, I won’t really. I don’t have the guts. I wouldn’t actually do it until I get consent, anyways.

I just… Can’t stop thinking about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, what the fuck. This fic got like 300 hits over a three-day span. Um, THANK YOU!!! It made this fic break 1k in less than one month, and it's now officially my most-viewed work! Thank you so incredibly much to everyone who's read and enjoyed so far <3 Remember to subscribe if you want to get notifications of when this fic updates! We had a surprise Wednesday update this week because I can't help myself sometimes, I wanna get this all out there!
> 
> Hope you liked today's chapters too - Junon, paparazzi, and helicopters, oh my! More of Lane's adventures on the way next week. Prepare thine selves - gonna be some actual Turks in action! Someone's in for a real ass-kicking.
> 
> See you next Saturday! <3


	19. Chapter 19

I eventually manage to shake off the butterflies (and the horniness they wrought, for the most part), and I get my camera back up to my face. The fiasco was well worth it - these shots are stunning indeed. I wish I’d brought a panoramic lens - I can see the curve of the planet’s horizon from up here. It’s like a dream.

Not to mention the stunning aerial pictures of Midgar, oh my gods… Just amazing. I get pictures of the entirety of the city as we approach, and when we start to dip back down toward the Shinra building, I can get pictures of the plates below. I think I even manage to spot my little flat off on the outer edge.

But all good things do eventually come to an end. Before long, the skids are landed back on the pad of the heliport, and Rude cuts the engine again. I turn to watch how he removes his harness, and I think I’m about to get it when my line of sight is cut off.

Tseng leans over and undoes the latch for me, bringing those butterflies and associated feelings right back. Just when I thought I’d lost them… hmph. He gives me a tiny smile and hands me my camera bag, allowing me to pack up for the last time before standing and heading out the side door in the back. 

The four of us make the long walk back across the pad, stopping in front of the elevator doors. Tseng calls it, but it’s going to take some time to get here. In the meantime, he turns to me.

“So, was your first flight as bad as you thought it would be?” he asks with a grin.

“It was… amazing,” I admit, then reach for my camera bag, “Do you want to see the shots I got?” 

“I’d like to see you edit them and send them along with the other pictures from today,” he says, putting a hand up to stop me, “Perhaps they’ll make good publishing. I’m guessing the PR team would love to have photos like those.”

He’s right. I can picture it now - one of those beautiful landscape photos, on the cover of a book or magazine. 

“And speaking of PR,” Rufus cuts in, “The photos you took at Junon need to be edited as well. I’d like to see them before you send them on to PR - I’ll make a selection for you to forward. Can you have those done before the end of the week?”

“Yes, Sir!” I reply enthusiastically, “I’ll get started as soon as I’m back to my office!”

The elevator arrives. All four of us pile in, and Tseng presses the button for the employee food court. Huh? I lean forward, reaching for the button that will take me to floor 16, but Tseng catches my wrist.

“No,” he says firmly, “You didn’t get any lunch today. We’re all stopping to get something to eat first - then you can return to your office.

I pull my wrist back, trying not to let his touch steal my brain. He’s got a point. I pull out my phone and see that the time is currently 3:42. That trip took five hours - two hour flights both ways and an hour for the tour and meeting. Damn… That time really flew by. And Tseng’s mention of food alerts my body to its absence. My stomach begins growling incessantly. Okay, yeah, food is a good plan. 

When the elevator doors open again, we all stride out and start heading toward the counters to select our meals. Though the room is mostly empty at this hour, I’m temporarily distracted again as many eyes still swivel toward us, which unnerves me. At least there aren’t any cameras flashing this time. I’d be happy to never have to do that again, but from what I’d gathered, Rufus and the Turks all feel the same way. I vow to never, ever become a paparazzo - nobody deserves that.

The group fragments as we choose which counter to visit. The employee cafe is always diverse - there’s a counter for hot food like burgers and fries, a counter for salads and sandwiches, one for soups, one for noodles, one for bakery items… We’re rather spoiled for choice. I want something that I can eat with one hand while I edit with the other, so I’m thinking soup and a salad bowl again today. Seems like Rufus has the same idea - he follows me there. 

As I’m scooping veggies into my bowl, he grabs the tongs and picks up a bunch of lettuce. 

“Lane,” he says quietly, “How did you know that Tseng was a Turk?”

“Oh… Well, one of my coworkers asked why I was being friendly with Turks. And they sort of… pointed out what I’d missed.”

“I see,” he says, then stays silent for a moment, as if pondering something before he finally continues.

“Does that fact… make you uncomfortable?” His voice is so soft that he’s nearly whispering.

I consider that for a moment. I mean, it did this morning. It still does a little bit, but I don’t want to worry him either. I want things to stay as they are.

“I mean, nothing’s really changed just because I found out. It doesn’t have to change anything, right?”

Rufus nods once, gazing down at his bowl.

“I’m glad you think that way,” he says, “Just… I don’t want there to be any secrets between us. I want you to remember that you’re our equal, and you should feel comfortable voicing any concerns you might have. You can always talk to any of us, or even take breaks, or…” He trails off. It seems like there’s something else on his mind. 

“I know,” I say, trying to reassure him, “Tseng talked to me about that. I know how important it is to communicate, so… I’ll do my best.”

That makes him smile.

“Thank you, Lane,” he says, “I’ll let you go now. I’m really looking forward to seeing those pictures.”

“Me too,” I smile back, “See you around!”

I don’t really want to turn away, but I do need to get back to the office. Tseng and Rude are already gone - they must’ve gotten their lunches together and headed to their offices while Rufus and I were talking. Come to think of it, I wonder where their offices are. I know Rufus has one on the executive levels… Are the Turks up there too?

The elevator arrives to take me up to the 16th floor again, and I turn around inside to see that Rufus is still standing on the other side of the cafe, watching me. As the doors start to close, he gives me a short wave, and I barely get enough time to wave back before the doors seal entirely and the elevator begins to move.

I’m glad that it hides my flushed face.

The afternoon continues with a little bit of curating today’s shots and a little more editing of the photos from Monday. Seeing those on my screen makes me reel all over again as the events replay in my head. I don’t get time to finish my work that day, but I come in the following morning ready to get back to it.

On Thursday, I manage to get all the Junon trip photos edited and curated. I send them off to Rufus for selections, and within the hour he sends me back a file containing the ones he has okayed for publishing. I forward it straight off to Marjorie, who is thrilled to have them. She’s especially complimentary of the landscape shots.

I’m nearly done with the puppy Reno photos by the end of the day, so I decide to just stay a little bit later to get them done with. But, of course, that’s a slippery slope - I try getting creative, and by the time I pull my nose out of the screen, it’s almost 8. Shit… Ah, well. Maybe I’ll flex my time tomorrow. That’s apparently a thing I can do now. 

The sun is starting to set, so I figure my walk home will be chillier than usual. I grab Reno’s jacket that’s still slung over the back of my chair. Yeah, whoops - I forgot to send that back with Tseng on Wednesday, and I didn’t see anyone today, so I’ve just held onto it. I hate to admit it, but despite the cigarette smell (which is thankfully starting to fade), it’s really comfy. I wonder how long I can get away with keeping it. 

On my way home, I decide to stop by a sushi joint I like for dinner. It’s normally out of my price range, but in anticipation of receiving my paycheck tomorrow, I choose to spoil myself a little bit with the gil from last weekend. I’m happy to stay and chat with the staff for a bit before I get back on my way. 

It’s really dark out now, especially as I get closer to the sector’s edge. These streets are mostly familiar by this point, but the darkness has cast a strange unfamiliarity over everything. 

Something feels… off. 

My gut tells me not to walk straight down the street tonight. A few of the streetlights are burnt out down there, and I happen to know of a shortcut through an alleyway just around the corner. I swing around and try to keep my chin low as I walk fast toward home. 

“Well well… You lost, kid?” 

A voice rings out in the night, several meters in front of me. I can hear another person snicker, and I swing my head up to identify what’s out there. It’s two guys - their hair spiked, leather sleeveless jackets, and chains… They’re gang members. I’m probably walking straight through their turf.

As I look up at them, their expressions change.

“Dude… That’s the kid on the cover of the gossip rag this week! The one with the Vice President!”

_What?_

“Shit, bro… You’re right. Betcha they got some good gil on ‘em, then…” 

They step toward me, and panic grips my chest. _Oh fuck, I need to get out of here._ Without thinking, I whip around and take off in a dead sprint back the way I’d come. The thugs follow me back out onto the street and down the way into the darkness under broken streetlights. I make the mistake of turning down another alleyway, trying to ditch them with corners, only to find that I’m faced with a dead end. A brick wall stops me in my tracks, with only an unreachable fire escape above the space between me and these guys.

 _Shing._ I can hear the sound of metal as they unsheath pocket knives, and they laugh as they creep towards me.

“Nowhere to run now, Shinra bitch,” the first one laughs.

“Just hand over the gil, and nobody gets hurt…” the other hisses.

“We should hold ‘em for ransom… Bet Shinra will pay a pretty penny to get ‘em back!”

I’m out of breath, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. I should call for help, but I can’t get myself to make any noise. At the worst possible time, I’m frozen in place as the reality of my situation really creeps in: _They’re going to kidnap me._

Without warning, a dark shape drops down from the fire escape, separating me from my attackers. It unfolds and stands before me.

A man in a black suit, back to me, with a long red ponytail trailing behind him.

“ _Reno,_ ” I whisper.

“Don’t you assholes have something better to do?” Reno says. He’s got some sort of weapon I’ve never seen before rested over his shoulder - a baton? “Pretty sure I told your friends last week to get off these streets.”

“Hey, they got in our face! Just defending our territory, bro!” one of them snaps.

Reno laughs, nearly doubling over. I’ve heard him laugh before, but this one sounds different - almost unhinged.

“ _They_ got in your face?” he turns halfway around and points his baton at me, “You don’t actually expect me to believe that bullshit, do you?”

“How would you know?” the other thug barks, “They suck _your_ dick, too?”

In a flash, Reno zaps over to the second thug. The baton sparks wildly as he pins the gangster against the wall. I didn’t know people could move that fast.

“Not yet,” he chuckles. He presses a button on his weapon, and more sparks fly off the tip. Not just a baton, then - an _electric_ baton, “You got any other lame jokes you wanna share, or are you ready to apologize and run home to mommy?”

The first thug yells loudly and lunges at Reno, arm raised to stab, but the Turk is too fast for him. Even though the guy brandishes a knife, all it takes is a swift kick in the groin to take him down. Without his backup, the pinned guy looks panicked.

“H-Hey, just… L-Let us go, man! We’ll get outta here, we swear!”

“You’re damn right you will,” Reno growls, “Or I’ll shove this EMR so far up your ass you’ll see sparks. Pick on someone your own size next time.”

With that, he pulls the weapon - EMR, apparently - away from the guy’s chest and zaps his leg with it. The thug screams in pain - a bloodcurdling noise that I don’t ever want to hear again. He falls on the ground next to his partner and writhes for a moment before they both manage to scramble up and dash back to wherever they’d come from.

I start to regain control of my reactions. I’ve been hyperventilating, and I try to slow my breathing some and get ahold of my shaking.

Reno watches to make sure that the thugs are gone before turning back toward me.

“The hell are you doin’ out here at this time of night, kid?” he steps over to check on me, slinging the weapon up to rest on his shoulder once again, “This is gang territory. You’re askin’ for trouble.”

“I live on the outer edge of the sector,” I pant, still trying to regain my bearings, “I was just trying to get home.”

“Damn, you live all the way out here?” Reno cocks his head, “Not the nicest neighborhood you coulda picked.”

“Only one I could afford,” I grumble, double-checking to make sure that I still have my wallet and phone, “What are you doing out here anyway? Following me again?”

“Again?” Reno looks confused, “We ain’t ever followed you, kid. Hate to break it to you, but you aren’t exactly on our watchlist. I’m just out on evening detail - same as every night.”

“You’re out here every single night?”

“Not always me. We take turns,” he shrugs, then beckons, “Here, let me walk you home. Don’t want any more trouble.”

“I’ll be fine on my own,” I try to insist, but my voice is still shaking too much. I’ve lived here for a while, but I’ve never been face-to-face with real trouble like that before. I wasn’t ready for it to happen tonight.

“Like hell you will,” Reno says, voice dipping in tone as he steps closer. He grabs my arm, “I’m comin’ with you, whether you like it or not. Now _walk_.”

His pushiness would probably otherwise piss me off, but instead it stirs heat in my core. The adrenaline pumping through my system has primed the way for a whole cocktail of other hormones, and it isn’t helping me cement any independence. Instead, I relent, resuming my walk toward my apartment on the sector’s edge. Reno keeps my pace.

I keep seeing motion from his EMR out of the corner of my eye. When I turn to look, I see that he’s tapping it against the leather shoulder panels on his suit jacket, fidgeting as we walk. A green orb occasionally flashes at me from the handle.

“Is that… materia?” I’m too curious not to ask. I’ve heard of the stuff, but I don’t know much about it.

“Yeah, it’s lightning materia,” he says, lowering the rod so I can look more closely. It almost looks like it’s embedded in the side of his weapon, “It’s kinda my specialty,” He raises the handle of the EMR, holding the materia close to his face as he sticks his tongue out. In the center of his tongue is a piercing - a tiny green orb that glows with the same sort of flare when the larger materia orb is held up to it.

“Woah,” I say in awe, “Your piercing is materia too?”

“Yep, same stuff,” he says with a satisfied smirk, “Lots of fun in bed, if you catch my drift.”

“Electroplay?” 

“Hell yeah,” Reno smiles, “EMR’s got some low settings for that, too. Rufus is all about it.”

“He’s into electroplay? Really?”

“Well, it’s not a _huge_ thing for him, but he likes it,” he shrugs, “Same way I hear you like spanking, but not in the same way you like soap.”

I turn away, trying to hide my red face from view. He isn’t being rude about it, but it still just catches me off-guard that he brings it up so casually.

“Chill out - not like anyone’s gonna hear us,” he says, giving me a playful shove to the side. I whine in feigned protest, and he laughs at me.

“That’s a nice jacket you got there,” he comments after a moment, giving me a side glance, “Where’d you get it?”

“It’s on loan,” I play along for a second, then laugh, “You want it back?”

“Nah, it looks good on you. You look like a real professional photographer in it,” he grins at me, “Just need your flat cap on top and you’re good to go.”

I laugh, “I look like a professional photographer in this?”

“You did in the tabloids.”

Oh fuck, that’s right. Those guys had mentioned something along those lines - a gossip rag. What the hell did that even mean? The smile wipes clear off my face.

“What tabloids?” 

“Just the dumb gossip rags. You know those things just make shit up,” he sneers, “Don’t even worry about it.”

“Those guys jumped me because they recognized me from one of those ‘gossip rags,’ Reno,” I retort, “I wanna know what the hell’s going on.”

“Relax,” he says, “So you ended up on the cover of one of ‘em. None of the other ones gave a shit, so don’t sweat it. There’ll be a new edition tomorrow and no one is gonna remember anything in a week. You’ll be fine.”

“The cover!?” I balk.

“I been on dozens of covers with the VP,” he shrugs, “It’s no big deal.”

I’m silent as I process everything that’s going on. I got jumped, then rescued by the guy I spent all night editing photos of, and now I’ve learned that I’m on the cover of a tabloid with Rufus. Could today get any worse?

We’re on my block now, and I look up toward my building. 

“This is it,” I say quietly, stepping toward the door, “Um… Thanks for the rescue.”

“Just doin’ my job,” he says, “But seriously, if you ever need help, call one of us. We’ve got your back.”

“Yeah… Thanks. Goodnight,” I call over my shoulder as I get the door unlocked. From the time the door shuts until I’m laying face-down on my mattress, I attempt to process what’s gone on.

I sit up.

_I need to see that tabloid._

There’s a convenience store just across the street from me that’s got to carry them. I’ve not bothered to undress yet, so I carefully creep back down to the door and out onto the street, looking in front of me and to my sides and over my shoulders the entire two-minute walk. I bolt up to the counter, where the shop owner Murray is currently manning the till.

“Hey Lane, what can I-”

“Tabloids?” I cut him off, too nervous to deal in politeness.

“Huh? Oh,” Murray turns to the wall behind him, where the publications are kept, “Which one did you… want…” He trails off as he spots what I’m looking for. I follow his eyes, and I see it. 

There I am, right on the cover of _Midgar Daily_. A paparazzi shot, interspersed with ridiculous headline blurbs and text bubbles. It’s the moment I slipped backwards in the crowd and Rufus caught me. The way this picture was taken, it seems like he’s dipping me.

Murray puts the magazine on the counter without a word.

“H-How much?” I stutter, trying not to lose it.

“Uh…” Murray hesitates, then slowly says, “5 gil.”

I look up at the sign beneath the gossip rags, which clearly reads “3 gil.” I glare at Murray, who looks away from me. Gods, I thought he was my friend… 

I slap three gil on the counter and book it back to my building.

I can’t stop staring at it. It’s like a train crash I can’t look away from - my face looks so fucking stupid. I really hate being in pictures, and this is part of the reason why. My mouth is open; I look like a fish, gazing right up at Rufus’s eyes. But he still looks so regal and stunning, not a hair out of place. I don’t even help make him look good in comparison, honestly. I just look frumpy. If anything, I drag him down.

I slump over in my bed and let the paper fall to the floor. I hope I never see it again after tomorrow. If Reno’s wrong about that, I’m going to kick his ass.

Okay, well, I probably couldn’t kick his ass if I tried. I replay the moment in my mind where he dropped down from the fire escape. I think about just how fast he moved, and the growling tone he took with the thugs. It was the same tone he pulled out on me when I tried to refuse his help, but it didn’t terrify me - _it turned me on._

That… can’t be normal. Am I going crazy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this was a very fun chapter to write. I don't think I've written anything but smut so far in my fic portfolio, so actually getting to try my hand at writing the Turks doing what they do in canon was a great change of pace XD
> 
> Things are gonna start getting real, real smutty soon. Today's post brings the total posted pages up to 125, and I've written 205 as of last night (up to chapter 27). So much more to share - I can't wait! But yeah, if you thought this wasn't smutty enough yet, stick around. There's so much more on the way, self-indulgent though it may be lol


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Lane getting horny at the idea of showering

The next thing I know, I’m waking up with the sun in my eyes. Fuck, my alarm never went off - I fell asleep before I set it. I flip over and find the clock display.

9:21 am.

I’m late. 

Gods, I slept like shit. I’m still in my clothes from yesterday even - I must’ve passed out from the stress. As I scramble to my feet, I slip on the tabloid and nearly wipe out. Fucking piece of… I pick it up and chuck it across the room in anger. 

I hate to do this, but I need to leave as soon as possible. Tardiness is not how I’ll make a good impression so soon after a promotion. I decide to just walk-of-shame it and not change, only grabbing a granola bar to eat on the train as I book it out the door.

By the time I arrive, it’s almost 10. That makes me a full hour late, but it’s better than nothing. I’m glad I managed to get here as quickly as I did - five more minutes of sleep and I would’ve missed that train. Then I wouldn’t have gotten in until almost 10:30.

I sit down at my desk, satisfied to finally be where I need to be, but realize that I don’t have any work to do. I stayed late last night and got all the remaining photos edited.

Well, I haven’t sent them to Rufus yet. I might as well start there. I open the laptop, package the photos I wanted to send in an encrypted file, and type out a nice message before sending them off to Rufus, CC: Tseng. I let out a deep sigh as I send it off, and let myself finally take a damn breath for the first time all day.

Having the opportunity to relax keys me in to all the uncomfortable thoughts that I’d manage to avoid earlier - starting with the fact that I wasn’t able to shower this morning. My short hair gets gross fast if I don’t wash it every day, and it’s already showing that characteristic greasiness. It’ll be atrocious by the end of the day… I’ll have to shower between work and the weekly party tonight. I didn’t put any deodorant on either, and the stuff I had on from yesterday is mostly faded away. At least the cigarette smell from Reno’s jacket mostly covers that up…

Not to even mention the fact that the image from the tabloid is now glued to my subconscious. I feel like I see it every time I close my eyes. It haunts me.

Ugh, I’m a fucking mess. Hopefully I can just hide in here until 3, and then I can leave. I did do overtime yesterday, after all - I can flex it today.

The knock on my door botches my plan.

Fuck, I hope that isn’t Marjorie… She’s probably going to ask why I was late. I drag myself across the office and open the door.

I’m more than a little surprised to see Tseng standing there.

“Good morning, Lane,” he says, straight-faced as ever, “May I come in?”

“Uh… Sure,” I stand aside to let him through. Just as soon as he’s past the threshold, he closes the door behind us and engages the lock. 

“Glad to see you finally made it in today,” he begins. Oh fuck, he’s about to chew my ass for being late.

“I… Listen, I’m really sorry I was late… I had a rough night last night, and I passed out before I could set my alarm and-”

“Don’t apologize,” he cuts me off, “Reno already let me know. When things like that happen, you’re more than welcome to take time off to recover. Besides, you worked so late yesterday, you have plenty of time to flex. As far as I’m concerned, you weren’t late at all. Though a text would be nice for next time.”

“Oh… Yeah,” I say quietly. How did he know I worked late yesterday? I never told Reno that, did I?

“I was just stopping by to check in with you,” he continues, “I’m very sorry to hear about the events of last evening. I’m glad you’re okay. It was lucky that Reno was doing his rounds nearby.”

“Yeah, definitely…” I sigh, “I’m glad he was there. I would’ve been toast otherwise.”

“Hm,” Tseng nods, “Are you sure you want to stay at work today? You’re allowed to head home and take the rest of the day off.”

“Oh no, I’m totally fine,” I reply, brushing him off and turning to sit back in my chair, “I’m just a little stressed from my morning, that’s all. Not even worried about last night,” That might be a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“Were you rushed this morning?” he asks, his expression taking on a slight look of concern.

“I mean… Yeah,” I scratch at my hair - it’s already starting to get itchy, “I woke up at 9:30, so I pretty much just ran right back out the door.”

“Did you get any breakfast?” Tseng asks. Ever concerned about when I last ate…

“Yeah, I got something,” I say, “I’ll have more at lunch,” I scratch again - the first scratch didn’t get the itch. 

Tseng looks at my hand as it falls back to my side, then scans me up and down.

“You haven’t changed clothes,” he observes, “Did you get a chance to shower?”

I blush deeply. I hate when my personal hygiene habits are questioned - even casually. It takes my brain to unprecedented places, and I try to keep a handle on it now and not jump to the defensive.

“...No,” I mumble, “But I’m fine. No big deal.”

Tseng raises a brow at me. I didn’t do a good job of hiding that shift - I’m sure he can sense my change of tone. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to go home and shower?” he presses.

“It’s not worth the trip,” I state. That’s perfectly true - it’s a thirty-minute train ride either way.

Tseng is silent for a moment as I stare meaninglessly at the laptop screen. It’s just the desktop - nothing at all of interest. But it’s better than having to look at him while we talk about the prospect of a shower.

“You know,” he finally says, “There’s a shower facility downstairs that you can use.”

I know this - the employee showers have been available to me since I started my internship. But the showers in this building are more or less public locker rooms - not a place I’ll be able to handle without getting turned on against my will. That’s more uncomfortable than anything, and is something I’ll avoid whenever possible. Including now.

“I… can’t use the employee showers,” I say quietly, hoping he doesn’t question why.

“I didn’t mean the employee showers,” he says, much to my surprise, “There’s a private shower facility on our office level. Technically, it’s reserved for use by Turks, but I see no reason why you can’t use it as well. Especially since you have some… extenuating circumstances in play.”

Even my butterflies are frozen. Of course he already knows why I can’t use the public showers… He plays with Elena, after all. She’s probably the exact same way.

His offer is way more tempting than I’d expected it to be. I… do really want to take a shower sooner rather than later. While I hesitate, he continues.

“You’re welcome to borrow a towel and toiletries - I’m sure none of us would take any issue with that. And if you’re willing to share your sizes, I might be able to find you some clothes to change into. I still have a small stockpile of civilian wear in my office somewhere.”

“Why do you have civilian clothes?” I ask, curiosity distracting me momentarily.

“Undercover missions, mostly,” he says with a small shrug, “That, and we seem to end up with most of the items that sit too long in the lost-and-found. They’re laundered and given to  _ us _ , for some gods-forsaken reason…” Tseng rolls his eyes, and I almost smile. But before I can, he turns his eyes back on me and gives me an expectant look, bringing me back to the matter at hand.  _ He’s waiting for an answer. _

I swallow and shift in my seat, trying to will myself to make a decision. I know what I want the answer to be -  _ yes _ \- but my stubbornness forces me to hold out. I don’t want to give in to Tseng yet again, but he’s played a trump card. He’d let me borrow toiletries… It’s tempting to go if just to see what sort of shampoo everyone uses. That’s some very easy fantasy fuel. 

Now or never. I have to choose.

“...Okay,” I finally relent. Tseng smiles.

“Good. I’ll show you there,” he steps to the side and gestures toward the door. The suddenness springs a cold sweat on my skin, and I struggle to get myself to stand up. I’m halfway to the door before he stops me.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks, pointing toward my desk. Shit… My keys are laying there. I swipe them up and let Tseng open the door. We step out and I lock up my office behind me, sticking the keyring in the pocket of my slacks. 

Walking through the 16th floor office spaces with a Turk is always a harrowing experience - I think everyone knows what’s up now, because they all stare at us as we walk past. I’m starting to wonder just how  _ much _ they know. I hope the walls of my office are soundproof.

In the elevator, Tseng pulls out a card and swipes it in the console. It allows him to select one of the basement levels - B3. He presses the button and we begin to move.

“Before I forget,” he asks as we descend, “What’s your shirt size?”

“Oh - I wear a medium,” I say.

“And pants?” he asks.

“36 by 32.”

“Thank you,” he nods with a small smile, “After I show you to the showers, I’ll see if I can find something for you to wear.”

“Th-thanks,” I stutter nervously. Gods, I hope I can do this without fully breaking down into a puddle. But then, maybe going down the drain would solve all my problems. 

The elevator shifts to a stop on level B3 - what I assume is all Turks office space, since Tseng needed that special clearance card to access it. If this is Turks turf, what am I about to witness? I half expect to be greeted with a wall of weaponry or newspaper clippings when the door opens, but instead I’m greeted with an empty hallway. That was… probably to be expected. Tseng steps out, and I follow him as he turns to the left. 

“You can come in,” he says, pressing a button to open a door, “I just need to grab something. I’ll only be a minute.”

I step through the doorway into the tall-ceilinged room. It’s set up like a fancy conference room, but it’s functioning like an office bullpen. A large screen on the back wall shows a news feed, and smaller screens throughout the room show similar images. Elena, Reno, and Rude are all set up in here, working away at computers on respective projects. When Tseng and I walk in, all three of them look up at me and smile.

“Oh, hi Lane!” Elena says brightly, giving me an excited wave. I timidly wave back -  _ gods, she’s still so cute. _

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Reno jokes, “What are you doin’ down here, kid?”

I blush, unable to admit the reasoning behind my visit. Tseng is already halfway across the room, headed to a desk just beneath the screens, but I can still hear him chuckle.

“Lane didn’t get a chance to shower or change this morning, so that is what they’re here to do,” he says matter-of-factly as he reaches the desk and begins gathering papers. I glance nervously around the room. Reno and Rude are both positioned to look right at me, and they give me sly smiles. Elena turns back to her computer, but not before I catch her blush bright red. 

“I have an important call in about ten minutes, so I’m just getting my papers together now. I should be back within half an hour or so,” Tseng straightens up and begins to walk back toward the door. Reno and Rude both murmur in understanding, and gradually return to their projects as Tseng and I leave the room once again.

“Thank you for your patience,” Tseng says as we walk. He turns and flashes a grin at me, “Let’s get you to the showers now, hm?”

I feel myself shrink under his smiling gaze, even as he turns to face forward again. A slight smile stays on his lips as he walks me down to the other end of the hall, where he opens another door with the touch of a button.

We enter a locker room. Rows of standing lockers line two of the walls, along with sinks and a single doorway off to another space on the right. A few restroom stalls line another side. And in the back, several open showers stand in waiting, separated from the main space only by short segments of tile wall. They’re so short that even I could see over them, and the tops are lined with various bottles of soaps and shampoos. Unlike a typical locker room, the space smells fresh and clean, and the scent draws heat downward through my body.

“As I said, feel free to use anything you find lying around,” Tseng says. He saunters over to a locker and spins the combination lock, popping it open and extracting a black towel from inside, “Here’s a towel for you to use. I’ll be back in a few minutes with some clothes for you - feel free to take your time.”

Tseng lays the towel on a bench, not far from the short tile walls, and turns on his heel. Before he leaves, he turns one last time and flashes me a smile.

And then I am alone.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Lane is horny for showering, mouthsoaping fantasies

I start taking off my gross clothes right away. I’m almost too jittery to look around, but “almost” doesn’t mean “unable.” 

The room is unorganized, sure, but not dirty by any means. It’s clear that there are four distinct individuals using the space in here - Elena’s stuff is easiest to pick out, having feminine labelling and often being relegated together in little pods. There’s a combination of top-shelf products and cheap, 1-gil store stuff… Most of the cheap stuff is haphazardly scattered around, and I somehow get the sense that those spaces are Reno’s. I can’t quite find a big difference between Tseng and Rude’s stuff, but in the same stroke there’s a separation - a few high end products mixed in amongst Reno’s things. Those could very well be his too, but I suspect that they’re not. 

Makes little difference to me at the moment. Here I am, standing in their locker room, stark naked. I toss the dirty clothes onto the bench, carefully laying my glasses on top of everything. I want to get behind that wall before Tseng walks in - even though he’s already seen me half-naked; I don’t really have much to hide. But still.

I step gingerly into the shower space. There’s a little bit of cold water still puddled on the floor from the last time it was used - within the last day or so, I’m guessing. There’s five showerheads to choose, and I end up going with the one right in the center, standing to the side as I turn it on. A blast of cold water comes out at first, but as I’m steeling myself to hop into the spray (as I do every morning), the water starts to slowly grow warmer. Oh my gods, I’d almost forgotten that hot water exists. I wait patiently for the water to warm up, one hand outstretched. Oh, this is gonna feel amazing… I haven’t had a hot shower since I moved above plate months ago.

A pneumatic hiss alerts me to the fact that the door opens. I jump and shrink, looking over the short wall to watch Tseng step in. He smiles when he sees me.

“You can get in,” he says as he steps toward the bench, “The water isn’t going to bite you.”

“Hhheheheh…” I laugh from the nerves, and I can feel my face going red-hot. I keep him in my peripheral as he disappears behind the wall, leaning down to the bench to no doubt leave some clothes for me to change into. From his angle, he can’t possibly see more than my head, even at his closest. When he comes back up, he turns back toward the door, giving me a smirk over his shoulder as he leaves once again.

I take a deep breath of steam, trying to get my thoughts in order. I’m not going to lie - there’s a little part of me that’s disappointed that he just came and went. Somewhere deep down, I was almost expecting him to…

Oh, to  _ what _ , Lane? I have got to knock it off with these improbable fantasies. This isn’t him flirting - he was only being courteous. I make a mental note to thank him before I head back to my office - he didn’t have to offer this to me. This is his space, after all. 

Thrusting myself under the hot water helps immensely to calm me down, ironically. My body zeroes me into the sensation of warmth that I usually miss during my daily ablutions. Not to mention the water pressure, which just isn’t a thing at home. This feels like heaven… So much so that I don’t even want to move. I stay still under the spray for a long time, letting the hot water just sluice off my body and splatter to the tiled floor. Fuck melting into a puddle - I wanna stay right here forever. 

Can’t really do that, though. I shouldn’t use all their hot water down here, right? ...Or does the Shinra building never run out of hot water? I try to picture Rufus turning on his shower in the executive suite and getting greeted with a frigid spray after one too many employees beat him to the warmth of the hot-water reservoir. I feel like if that happened, someone would lose their job. The thought is almost silly, and it makes me laugh. 

Okay, focus, Lane. I should really start making progress here. But… it isn’t really that simple, is it? The next step to making progress is to wash up properly, and for that, I need shampoo and soap.

Which means I need to borrow something from what’s available. And, by gods, to a soap fetishist with several crushes, this is a fucking buffet.

There are three bottles of shampoo lined up on the shelf, all near one another (makes sense - I’m guessing Rude doesn’t need any shampoo). The labels make it easy to pick out which one belongs to who - Elena’s shampoo “for ladies” touts a fragrance of roses. Reno’s is a three-in-one bottle of “Racer’s Edge” from a convenience store, and Tseng’s is some top-shelf, salon-quality stuff.

...Which should I use?

I take my fucking time with the decision this time. I uncap each bottle and inhale the scents, nailing down exactly whose is whose - Tseng’s in particular smells exactly like him, and also a little bit like Rufus somehow. I suppose that probably shouldn’t be as surprising as it is.

I wish this was easier. I like all three of these guys, and I want to be even closer to each of them… 

Well… Hey, here’s a concept - Why can’t I use all three?

I blush as the lightbulb goes off. My eyes dart back and forth from the door to my task at hand, praying to gods that no one walks in and witnesses this. I dispense a small amount of each shampoo into my palm, letting the smells mix together in a cocktail that’s somehow wholly aphrodisiac. Maybe that’s just Pavlovian at this point with me, but whatever. 

I let my fingers run the mixture of product through my hair, feeling soft and luxurious as it foams up under my touch. I let the lather run down my body and eventually melt away under the stream. I feel like I’m sighing every four seconds, but I can’t help it - I’m in heaven.

Ah… Okay Lane, don’t get too lost in it now. I need to get done in here eventually. I don’t know what I’d do if anyone walks in on me, so I should probably just hurry up and get done. 

There are three containers of body wash in the shower, which puzzles me for a second until I notice that there’s also a bar of soap on the shelf. I guess you don’t always need both… I wonder who uses the bar soap. It’s probably not appropriate for me to grab that and use it - body wash is different; I’ll just use a mix of the three products available to me, like I did with the shampoo. Once again, one of these is clearly Elena’s with its sweet fragrance, one is Reno’s with a store-brand label, and one is… either Rude’s or Tseng’s. I can’t tell - it’s masculine, but in a classy way. The bottle is designed to look like it’s made of wood grain, and the smell is fresh and minty with a hint of musk. It doesn’t really smell like Tseng, so I figure it’s probably Rude’s. Either way, I’m glad to add it to my secret mix. 

I run my own hands against soft skin, feeling it grow slick as I wash. Elena’s body wash is exfoliating, with scrubby particles in it. Reno’s body wash is cooling, and I feel the icy wave as it washes over me. The combination of sensations has me biting back moans all over again, and I almost regret having to rinse away all the suds.

I let myself stay under the water for a bit longer, gazing at the bottles on the shelf and taking in their every detail, memorizing them in case I never get this chance again. I want to be able to think about them later when I jack off to the memory. 

That bar of soap catches my eye again, and I find myself curious once more about who it belongs to. Well, none of those body washes really smelled like Tseng, so I’m thinking that the soap bar probably does. But there’s only one way to really find out, isn’t there?

I shake as much water off my hand as possible and reach for it, holding it gingerly in my palm to avoid getting the surface too wet. I hardly look at it and instead bring it up to my nose and sniff, trying to decide if I can tell what brand it is just by smell. Mm… Definitely a generic white Shinra-brand bar, easily the most common type for sale in Midgar. It’s not typically my preference - Barclay was my favorite brand back home - but the floral scent of the white variant does have some fond memories attached.

I open my eyes to get a better look at it - see if a brand-name is still visible, or if the carved letters have been washed away. What I see instead is unexpected enough to make me gasp.

There’s  _ teeth marks _ embedded in this thing. Deep ones, set in a full arc across the surface of the bar. They don’t exactly look fresh - like the bar’s been otherwise used since it last took a trip into someone’s mouth - but they’re deep-set enough to cement their existence beyond a fluke. 

Who… Whose teeth marks are those? Who ended up with this soap bar in their mouth? Who put it there?

Fuck, my mind absolutely buzzes with questions. Enough logic prevails for me to convince myself to put the soap down before my cover is blown, but I can still clearly see it when I close my eyes. What a wonderful replacement for the tabloid image from last night. I can’t stop thinking about it. 

And to go back and answer my original query - it does indeed smell a bit like Tseng. That’s definitely  _ his _ soap (and he appears to have used it since it was last used for disciplinary purposes, which is titillating), but I still don’t know who ended up with it in their mouth. Reno or Elena seem like prime candidates… But what if it was Rude? He doesn’t seem very talkative, but now I’m picturing him with a bar of soap in his mouth, tall and strong and submitting to Tseng’s punishment method of choice. The image is jarringly sexy. Oh, or what if it was Rufus? He mentioned that he was a switch - does Tseng ever punish him too? It even grazes my mind that those teeth marks could belong to Tseng himself - having the soap shoved in there by his subordinates in revenge, or even by Rufus for his own taste of discipline. Questions devolve completely into fantasy as I dream of what the answers could possibly be.

Phew… Okay, dial it back, Lane. I can’t let myself get too carried away. Somebody is gonna walk in on me masturbating, and I can’t imagine that would go over well for me. I can dream that it might, sure, but reality is not fiction. I have to hold back until I know I’ve got consent and all my details straight.

In the meantime, I face the biggest challenge thus far - turning off the water. I do need to get out and dry off and get out of their hair for the day… But fuck, this feels so  _ nice _ . I just don’t want to let it go, especially with all the steam and scents and fantasy swirling around me. It just feels so perfect… But I do eventually manage to drag my hand up to the faucet lever and turn it off.

I’m quick to get my ass around the wall corner to the bench where Tseng laid the towel. Without the hot water to refresh my body heat, it feels absolutely freezing in here. I rub the towel across my hair first, wrapping it around my head so it doesn’t drip down while I try to dry everything else. With the towel up to my face like this, I can’t help but inhale deeply - the soft black cloth smells just like Tseng. Is this  _ his _ towel? I shiver at the mere concept. Or maybe I’m just cold. I don’t waste any more time before starting to dry off the rest of my body, working my way down before wrapping the towel around myself at my underarms.

I reach toward the pile of clothing for my glasses, only to find that it’s changed quite a bit from last I saw it. The haphazardly strewn items of clothing that I’d arrived to work in are nowhere to be seen (aside from my shoes resting under the bench), and in their place is a neatly folded stack, topped with my glasses, phone, and office keys. I put the glasses on and get a better look at whatever Tseng picked out for me. 

The first item is a pair of black boxer briefs. It’s not dissimilar from what I typically wear on a usual day, but I’m still thrown off. Did Tseng really just give me some random underwear that came from the lost and found? I know he mentioned that they’d have been laundered, but still… I hardly want to touch them. But they’re all I’ve got. Could just go commando, I guess… 

I pick them up and read the label on the interior. It’s pretty faded - I can’t tell what brand they are, but I can read the size marker: Large. Exactly what I wear. I can also see a name clearly written with permanent marker in the pale gray inside of the waistband -  _ Tseng. _

My blush amps back up as I realize exactly whose underwear I’m holding. He straight-up gave me a spare pair of  _ his  _ underwear, oh my gods. I can’t tell if that helps or hurts my ability to put them on.

...Oh, who am I kidding? It totally helps. 

I step into the boxer briefs and pull them up. They’re slightly snug - I’m sure my large is different from his. The fabric hugs the curve of my chubby hips. It’s so soft.

I eventually manage to regather my wits and move on to the next item in the pile. That would be a shirt, but frankly, I’d rather get the pants on next so I can get socks and shoes on as soon as possible, so I move the shirt to the side and grab the pants. They’re just a simple pair of tan slacks, and the tag reads 36/32 - my exact size once again. Wow, Tseng really nailed this. I pull the pants on, making sure that the legs don’t drag into any errant water puddles. They fit me just perfectly - perfect length, perfect width. On top of that, they have a nice clean crease on each leg - far more professional-looking than the frumpy gray khaki pants I’d slept in last night. They feel high-quality. 

I sit down on the bench and reach for my shoes next. There’s a bundled pair of socks shoved into one of the openings - black, soft, and clean. I pull them on one at a time, then slide on my familiar old black dress shoes. Next to these quality clothes, they look extra beaten-up. It really is time to replace them. Well… I get paid today. Maybe I’ll go to a shop this weekend.

The last item is the shirt. It’s somewhere between a plum purple and a navy blue color - a polo shirt, made of soft knit fabric. It again seems pretty high quality… Did Tseng really drag this out of the lost and found? If I owned this shirt, I wouldn’t leave it laying around anywhere.

Before I pull the shirt on, however, I’d really like to know if there’s any deodorant I can get away with using. I have my doubts - not like I’m going to borrow anyone’s stick deodorant - but maybe somebody uses a spray?

Ooh, score - must be my lucky day. There’s a mens’ spray deodorant on the edge of one of the sinks. Not sure who it belongs to, but it’ll work just fine. I grab some and spray it on. Oh shit, it makes me cough - that’s a musky, manly kind of smell, really sort of spicy. Not something I’d pick for myself, but it will do the job for today. 

Once the cloud of aerosol clears, I pull the shirt over my head and do up the buttons. Oh shit, I actually look kind of professional like this. I run my fingers through my hair to comb it into place and grin at myself in the steam-edged mirror. For the first time in a damn long time, I actually feel good in a physical sense. Not that I usually feel bad, but, well, cold showers and thrifted work clothes don’t exactly constitute effective self-care. This is several steps up from my usual routine, and it’s got me in a very good mood. 

Now to start getting back to work.

My phone tells me that I’ve been in the shower for twenty minutes, so Tseng should probably be finishing up that phone call. I… don’t really remember where the elevator is, so I should probably go find him. I also want to thank him for letting me use these showers. And also his towel and underwear, if I can find the words to do so.

I grab the keys and pocket my phone, leaving the towel on the bench since I don’t know what else to do with it. I press the button to open the locker room door (which is way cooler than the plain old door handles on the upper floors of the building, by the way) and step back out into the hallway. 

There are several doors down here that all look identical and are entirely unlabeled. I’m not sure what’s what - there’s only one door that I remember. The one at the very end of the hallway - that conference room of sorts. Fuck, I don’t really want to go disturb anyone, but… maybe Tseng is down there? If he’s not, then maybe I can wait for him there. It seemed like that big desk in the front of the room was his, so he’s bound to come back that way at some point. I make my way down there and slide open the door to step inside. 

Reno, Rude, and Elena all look up at me again, still hard at work in the same spots they’d been in earlier. Elena turns her head back to her computer when she realizes that it’s me, but slowly turns again to look at me in her peripheral. Rude and Reno both smile at me, and Reno speaks.

“Hey kid - ooh, lookin’ sharp. All clean, huh?” He’s got that smirk on his face that lets me know that he’s teasing me on purpose. I hate that I give him the satisfaction of a blush.

“Hmph… Where’s Tseng?” I ask, changing the subject as much as possible.

“Probably still in his office. You know where that’s at?”

“Uh… no.”

“Here,” Reno pushes his chair away from the table and stands, “I’ll show you.”

“Thanks,” I say, stepping aside to let him take the lead as we head back into the hallway. We walk until we reach a door on the left, not many steps from the conference room. Reno knocks with two loud raps, then pushes a button and sweeps his hand out, dramatically gesturing for me to enter. I give him a playfully annoyed look and take a single step inside as he turns to leave.

Directly in front of me is Tseng’s desk. It’s large and black and strewn with papers. He sits behind it, a landline phone held up to his ear as he shifts through sheets and forms. There’s two chairs in front of his desk, and when he sees me, he gives me a nod of acknowledgement before pointing to the chairs, inviting me to have a seat. 

Tseng continues to talk into the phone - I’m not following any of it; it’s all numbers and quotas and deadlines and business jargon. I tune it out, and instead begin to peek around the room. Filing cabinets line the wall to my right. To my left, more cabinets, interrupted by a door. Behind Tseng’s desk stand tall bookshelves, loaded with binders and books with spines thicker than my arm. The office space is way bigger than any normal office - it feels like a mile between the door and the desk.

“Thank you, Mr. Vice President,” Tseng’s voice draws my attention back to him, “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss right away? Lane just walked in, so I’d better be going soon,” he pauses, then grins as he listens to Rufus on the other end, “Yes, they’re looking much cleaner. I-” He cuts himself off and listens again, then rolls his eyes, “Yes, Sir. Lane - Rufus says hello.”

I smile.

“Hi, Rufus,” I call playfully toward the receiver. Tseng smiles too and shakes his head, listening in.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll see you for the three o’clock meeting. ...Of course,” And with that, he hangs up, turning his full attention to me. 

“Apologies for that. Rufus wanted some input on a report,” He shifts the papers away from the center of his desk, then looks at me again, “Stand up.”

My stomach leaps at his sudden command, but I do as I’m asked. Tseng stands as well and looks me up and down, analyzing.

“Hm… You look very professional,” he remarks, affirming my earlier feelings, “But I have a feeling we can make it better. Give me a moment. Tuck your shirt in.”

Tseng steps over to the filing cabinets on the right side of the room. He digs through them for a moment, and I busy myself with attempting to get the shirt shoved into the pants. When Tseng turns back, he’s got a belt in his hands. 

“Put this on,” he says, “Shoe size?”

“Huh? Oh - 9,” I answer, attempting to get the belt threaded through the loops. As I’m securing it, Tseng returns with a pair of brown wingtip leather shoes in his hand.

“Try these on,” he says, waiting and watching as I trade my old shoes for these new ones. When I finish, I look up at him - he still has a hand on his chin, analyzing me. Without a word, he turns and walks back to his desk, pulling something out of a drawer and returning to me. Before I can do much of anything, he hooks his hand under my chin and begins to run a comb through my hair, parting it on the side the way I usually do for work and slicking it towards the back. I almost whimper out loud - I’m weak for having my hair touched - but I manage to bite it back, letting him style me how he wants. When he decides that my hair’s in place, he steps back, looks me up and down one more time, and nods. 

“How does it all feel? Everything fit well?”

“It’s all perfect,” I say in full truth, “These clothes are… really, really nice. This is seriously all lost and found stuff?”

“Actually, none of it was,” Tseng says, “Some of the clothing I have stashed away belonged to previous Turks. You happen to share a size with a former employee who left his civilian clothing here upon retiring.”

“Oh,” I say. For the first part of that explanation, I was almost afraid that I’m wearing the clothing of someone who died, but Tseng’s mention of retirement puts me at ease. 

“The socks and underwear are mine, though,” he adds casually, “I hope you don’t mind - I figured they’d suffice for the day.”

“Oh… Y-Yeah, they’re, uh… fine. Thanks,” I stammer awkwardly. Tseng gives me a grin.

“Good. I’ll return your clothes to you on Monday, after they’ve been laundered,” he explains, then sits back down at his desk, relaxing and looking up at me, “Did you enjoy yourself?”

That edge of secret implication is back in his voice. On first listen it sounds like a perfectly innocent question, but on second thought, there’s a darker, naughtier edge behind it. Is he… asking me if I got off?

“It was… a very nice experience,” I say, trying to be honest, “I’d almost forgotten what hot water felt like.”

That makes Tseng’s brow furrow.

“Do you not have hot water in your home?” 

“Not usually,” I shrug, “I’m used to it, honestly. No big deal.”

Tseng looks confused - almost taken aback. He turns to his computer and begins typing as he talks.

“If that’s the case, then I’d like to extend your invitation to use our shower facility,” he says, “I’ll work on getting you an access key card. If you’d like to use the showers here instead of at home, you’re more than welcome to, though it would probably be best for you to bring your own towels and toiletries in the future.”

“Oh… Sure,” I say slowly. I’m struck by his offer - to just waltz down here on my own and do that again. Every day, if I wanted to. He’s really going to get me an access keycard just so I can come shower whenever I want?

“Alright,” Tseng finishes whatever he was typing, and stands, “Let me walk you back to the elevator, then. It won’t open without an access card,” I follow him out the door of his office and back down the hallway to the elevator, where he swipes the key card and lets me step inside as it arrives.

“Thanks for the offer to do this,” I say, fighting my shyness, “It was… much appreciated.”

Tseng smiles at me, almost knowingly.

“You’re very welcome, Lane,” he says, “Come back anytime.”

My heart tumbles with his offer. I can’t wait to do this again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two surprise chapters! This is purely self-indulgent lol. Poor Lane is just so excitable sometimes...
> 
> That's all for the weekend, though. See y'all next week for the weekly Friday party ;D


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Masturbation, teasing

I return to my desk to find an email from Rufus waiting for me.

_ “Lane, these pictures are just perfect. Thank you so much for your professional assistance. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Hope you enjoyed your shower, too. _

_ That will be all for this week. Have a wonderful weekend. _

_ Rufus” _

His compliments fill me with butterflies again. Too much more of this, and they’re going to take up permanent residence in my guts. They’ve probably already started a nest - let’s be real.

I’m a little bummed that I won’t have anything to do for the rest of the day, but I think I’ll manage. I can’t keep the fantasies out of my head - everything I saw and learned during my morning, coupled with the fact that I’ll get to do it again. As soon as Monday, even. That’s only a few days away! 

In all honesty, I’m not sure if I’ll do much of anything differently. Tseng mentioned that I should bring my own towel and toiletries for next time, and I won’t lie - that’s got me slightly disappointed. Makes perfect sense, of course… But I wonder if I’ll be able to sneak some shampoo from the Turks’ bottles every now and again without anyone noticing. 

I especially can’t stop thinking about that marked-up bar of soap. There’s still so much mystery and possibility surrounding it - how am I supposed to let it go? It takes honest effort not to touch myself in my office, but I manage, opting instead to stare blankly at my computer screen for most of the day. The stillness of the desktop is a good backdrop for my perverted thoughts.

At 2:45, I get a text from Tseng.

_ "You should leave around 3 today - no need to work overtime when you don’t have much to do.” _

He’s got a point. I type out a response.   


_ "Got it, I’ll head home soon. Will I see you later?” _

I hope that wasn’t too forward for me to ask. But I’m curious. I’m really hoping that I do get to see him tonight.

_ Ding. _

_ “Not likely. I’ll be working late. I’ll see you on Monday, on time.” _

_ “Okay. Have a good weekend!” _

Well, that’s a little disappointing. For as good as this day’s started, it’s a double-edged sword - none of the rest of the day can top this morning. It all seems like a let-down in comparison.

Meh, shake it off, Lane. You’ll survive. 

I pack my things up and head out, travelling my patterned path from my office to the elevator, street to train to street to home. I step inside my apartment, much earlier in the day than usual, and sigh.

My place has been a real mess lately. It’s small, and I’ve packed it full of my belongings over the time I’ve lived here. When I’d gotten here, there were half a dozen bookshelves along the walls, and a small dirty mattress in a corner. I did end up getting rid of that mattress and scrounging for a new one - not that hard, since I was working in Wall Market at the time. It took me a whole week to clean this place top to bottom, and even then there were stains and spots that wouldn’t come out no matter how much elbow grease went into them.   
  
I consider using my free time to clean my place up today, but I just can’t motivate myself to do it. Ah, well - I decide that my time is best used taking a nap anyway. After the awful sleep I got last night (and with plans to stay up late tonight), I better catch up with it as much as possible. I need to be able to do my best tonight.

Gotta admit, though - I don’t really want to take off these nice office clothes. I go and stand in the bathroom, peeking at myself in the only full-length mirror I own on the back of the door. I do look super professional, especially with the borrowed shoes and belt. It was a tad degrading to get styled like a doll in Tseng’s office, but he clearly knew what he was doing. It felt good in the end and, I mean, a little degradation here and there can be sort of hot. 

I do really wanna nap, though.

I compromise - I’ll just keep on the underwear and socks. I take off the shoes and belt and place them neatly by my door, then remove the shirt and pants and neatly fold them, following the crease lines. Maybe I can wear them again sometime? I wish I’d appreciated them more while they were on.

When I’m mostly undressed, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror again, standing there in just Tseng’s boxers and socks. Just the sight of it makes me blush. I can’t believe he just lent these to me without so much as a second thought. 

I set my alarm for 6 and crawl under my covers, bundling myself in a comfy little nest before reaching for a very good friend of mine - my favorite wand vibrator. I’ve been buzzing with fantasies all day, so why not keep up the buzzing and fantasizing now? Mm, fuck… It isn’t sex, but I still know where the best spots are to hit with my wand. I can’t help but roll back through those fantasies again… Imagining every possible combination of who could’ve had that soap bar in their mouth, what they did with it, who punished them… 

_ That could all be me soon. _

That does it. With all the buildup of the day, it doesn’t take me long at all to cum and feel spent. I let my wand roll to the floor and turn over myself, drifting off as the dopamine rushes through me.

I dream about something, but I can’t remember it as soon as my alarm goes off. It’s easier to get up from a nap than it is to rise from real sleep - Gods know I needed that.

Now that I’m up for real, I have plenty of time to get ready for the party tonight. I put on my usual Friday-night clothes and my flat cap, grabbing my mask and my camera bag as I head out the door.

I grab dinner from a street vendor and hop on the train, eating on the way. It’s too bad that Tseng won’t be there tonight, but it comes with a silver lining. After last week’s interruption, I’m ready to redeem myself and focus on pictures all night long. 

I get there at 9, right when the doors open. I slip inside, breathing in deeply as this bar begins to stir to life. Time to find Spicier and grab the SD card.

“Hey, Aperture! How’s it going?” Spicier finds me first, heading my way from his spot at the bar.

“Great,” I say with a smile, “You got the card?”

“Sure thing - here,” He hands it to me, “How was your week? Did you make it home okay last Friday?”

“Oh… Yeah, I was totally fine. My week was… really good,” I say, finally pausing to think about it. I’m happy to be honest - it  _ was _ a really good week, wasn’t it?

“Hey, I’m glad to hear it,” Spicier grins, “Say, by the way, you wouldn’t happen to know if Shion is gonna be here tonight, do you? He told me it was still up in the air.”

“He… told me that he probably won’t make it,” I say, shrugging off a blush. Why did Spicier think that  _ I _ would know? Shion is just a house top that I happened to scene with last time - as far as he knows, we don’t have any other connections, right? Regardless of how he guessed, I’m embarrassed to confirm that he guessed right.

“Aw, that’s too bad,” he says, “You two seemed to really hit it off last time. You know… Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, but after you left and Shion finished his scenes, he came over and talked about you for a while. He made it sound like you two were gonna hang out more in the future. I think he really likes you!”

So much for hiding my blush.

“Really?” I say quietly.

“Oh yeah, totally! Have you guys hung out at all since last weekend?”

“Um… Yeah, we… uh…”

I don’t want to say that we’re coworkers, so I stutter a little. Lucky for me, someone calls Spicier’s name, waving him toward the door. Looks like some folks from the street managed to wander in again. He makes a brief apology and runs off to take care of things, leaving me alone with my camera and my butterflies. Thinking about Tseng talking to the group leaders about me fills me with a really strangely warm feeling. 

The feeling eventually fades away again as I turn to my task of the evening. I get distracted as I chase the scenes and pink bracelets for hours, finding that rhythm that I know and love to shoot. Time is lost on me, and the next time I check the clock, it’s already 1 am - around the time when most folks start to take it easy, and the time when I usually give the SD card back to Spicier. Last call is in about an hour.

I wait for the scene I’d been shooting to wrap up, and I’m about to make my way to the bar when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Hello, Aperture,” that velvet voice -  _ no way _ .

“Ts- Uh, Shion?” I almost screw up, but I catch myself, “I thought you said you weren’t going to make it.”

“I said it wasn’t likely,” he corrects me, “But I managed to finish up much more quickly than I’d anticipated.”

“Oh, well, that’s good!”

“Indeed,” he smiles at me, “I would ask you to scene tonight, but it seems the spaces are all booked up for the evening,” He turns and gestures toward the couches in the corner, “Could I instead steal you for a few minutes to chat?”

“Sure! I was just finishing up for the night, actually.”

“Wonderful,” he glances at me over his shoulder, “Then I know I’ll have your undivided attention.”

Leave it to Tseng to somehow figure out how to turn me on with only his words. I flush, but follow closely behind him, having a seat right next to him on one of the sectionals. I try to leave a little professional distance, but he slides in enough to close the gap. I don’t try to move away any more.

“How’s this evening going for you?” he starts, “Better than your morning?”

I know he’s referencing my very rushed wake-up panic, but in all honesty, this morning might’ve been the best part of the day.

“It’s been good,” I say, “I got a nap in with my spare time, caught up on some sleep.”

“Good, good,” he says. He leans back and swings a leg up, resting his ankle on his knee in a relaxed posture. His arm slides across the back of the couch behind me - not wrapping around my shoulder, but just barely touching the back of my neck. Gods, every time he touches me, I burn with static. I hope that I stop doing that soon… What’s it going to take to get my body to just feel normal whenever he’s in the room?

“Did you… work late tonight?” I say, attempting to make conversation and distract myself. Tseng glances at me through his mask and smiles.

“I don’t do much else,” he sighs, shaking his head. I don’t have much response for that - this isn’t an environment in which I can pry. I don’t think I should pry at all anyways. 

Instead, we sit in silence for a few seconds before Tseng turns to me. His brow is furrowed, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s going to ask me something. But then he exhales, and spends another few seconds staring at me.

“...What?” I can’t take the suspense anymore. What the hell is he looking at me like that for?

Tseng smirks.

“Did you use Rude’s deodorant after your shower this morning?”

“Ah, I…” I feel my face flush again.

“The spray-on one?” Tseng pushes, “I can smell it on you,” I feel his hand shift and now wrap over my shoulder in full. Even at such a simple touch, I find I have to bite back a moan.  
  
“M-Maybe…” I hedge, too embarrassed to admit the truth.

“There you go again, neglecting honesty,” he says, his voice taking on that familiar teasing purr. He puts a hand under my chin and tilts it up so I look him in the eyes, “Do you want to try that one again? It was a simple yes-or-no question.”

I wince and whimper, but ultimately find the footing to reply.

“Yes,” I squeak. Tseng hums in response, satisfied with my answer. 

But he doesn’t let it go.

“And then which shampoo did you use?” he pries.

“...Why do you care?” I ask sharply. I’m not usually bratty, but for some reason it bursts out of me right then.   


It’s answered with a hard grip on my chin. Instant regret.

“I was  _ kind _ enough to let you borrow what you needed,” Tseng growls, “And I would like to know what you used. Is that a good enough reason for you-?”

He’s about to say  _ “or…” _ but I’m not about to let him finish that threat.

“Yes, Sir,” I say, cutting him off. He must be enjoying the fear in my eyes. He smiles as he releases me and returns his hand to his lap.

“Well then - go on, tell me. Which shampoo did you use? Or were you too distracted to remember?”

Oh, I remember clear as day, but I don’t want to confess the truth to him. I squirm in my seat until I feel him pinch my shoulder in stern reminder. I gasp at the pain and spit it out.

“...All of them,” It’s very nearly a whisper. I just can’t quite do it. 

“All of them?” Tseng repeats, making sure he heard me right, “Don’t you think that’s a little wasteful? I know you can’t help yourself, but really… Maybe I need to teach you some self-control?”

This casual degradation and his threats are driving me up the wall. I just know that he can read on my face the effects that his words have on me. 

“I-I used them all at once!” I whine in defense, “Just a little of each - I wasn’t wasteful...”

“A little of each, huh?” Tseng says, cocking a brow, “Alright, I’d buy that. And then what did you use to wash the rest?” His hand finds my knee and trails halfway up my thigh. The momentum casts a ghost of his touch directly to my pussy. 

“...The body washes,” I admit, “A little bit of each again.”

“Oh? That’s interesting,” He’s taking every opportunity to draw this teasing out, “I would’ve thought that you’d gravitate toward my bar of soap.”

“I… picked it up,” I squeak, “But it… uh…”

“ _ Surprised _ you?” he presses, smiling. He doesn’t have to say anything more - I know exactly what he’s referring to. 

“N-no,” I attempt to backpedal, “Just… Didn’t seem appropriate to use it, that’s all.”

“Fair enough,” Tseng says with a nod, “Though I wouldn’t have minded. In all honesty, I almost expected to find fresh marks in that bar when I took my own shower later.”

I can’t take it anymore - I shift to the side and hide my face behind my hand. Tseng chuckles and tugs, pulling me in against him. 

“Relax,” he tells me, “I’m only teasing.”

“I know,” I sigh, trying to relax like he asked me to. It’s not as easy as it sounds, though - not because of the teasing, but because of his touch. We’re literally almost cuddling right now, though it’s a lot more like I’m leaned up against him while he sits up straight. He’s even put his hand back up on the couch - this is all me. 

“Oh,” Tseng says softly. I tilt my head back to look up at him, then follow his gaze back to the bar. Spicier and his friends are all looking at us, smiling and laughing amongst themselves.

“Seems like we have an audience,” Tseng says with a chuckle, “Here, stand up. Why don’t we go chat with them for a while?”

“Oh - sure,” I sit up, letting go of that fleeting moment that I was up against his chest. Tseng and I walk over to the bar side by side. Spicier, Hera, Chilla, and Greyed all greet us, and step aside to let us order at the bar. I order a rum and cola, and while Tseng orders a bourbon neat, I grab my camera again and pop out the SD card, handing it back to Spicier.

“Here, Spice.”

“Thanks, Aperture,” he says with a smile, “Hope we weren’t interrupting you guys.”

“No, not at all,” Tseng cuts in, turning back toward us, “We were just catching up.”

“‘Catching up,’ huh?” Hera can sniff out budding relationships a mile away, “Sure, sure… Seems like the two of you have really hit it off.”

“Yeah, I guess we have,” I answer shakily, looking to Tseng for approval. That much, I suppose, is inarguably true - we did hit it off. 

“Are you guys an item yet?” Hera asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. I feel Tseng prod my hand, depositing my drink into it.

“Aperture is under consideration by myself and my other partners,” Tseng says confidently, “So far, we’ve all thoroughly enjoyed their company, and we’re looking forward to more opportunities to get to know them better.”

“Ah, I see - the collection grows, then. What is this, Shion, your fifth partner?” Hera laughs. Tseng laughs with her.

“Yes, it is,” he says.

“Speeeaking of getting to know Aperture…” Spicier says, turning his eyes toward me, “You got them to drop a pretty interesting fact last week. Really, Aperture - you like having your mouth washed out, huh?”

Fuck, that’s right -  _ consequences _ . For the longest time, I’ve been dreading this conversation, feeling like everyone would just think I’m weird for this fetish. But with Tseng at my side, I somehow feel much more confident.

“...Yeah, I do,” I say quietly. I’ve got the same feeling in my gut as I did earlier this week, when Tseng and Rufus and Reno held a similar conversation with Elena and me. 

“That’s really neat!” Chilla says, “I’ve never heard of that one before. It seems like it could be really fun! Well, not fun for a sub, but I bet it’s a blast to punish someone else that way!”

“Oh, it certainly is,” Tseng says, laughing along with the group.

“That’s right - isn’t one of your other partners into that too, Shion?” Greyed asks. Tseng nods. 

“Indeed. Aperture fits in very nicely with our little group,” He glances down at me and gives me a smile. I sip my drink in an attempt to avoid having to look at him.

“That’s wonderful,” Hera gushes, “I’m so glad we got to introduce the two of you!”

The conversation carries on, mostly between Tseng and the group leaders about relationship gossip and general upcoming events. I down my drink faster than I normally do, and Tseng pays my tab off when he pays his own, much to my displeasure.

“I can do that myself, you know,” I grumble. Tseng smiles.

“I seem to recall you telling me that I didn’t have to ask,” he counters. I roll my eyes in return.

“Careful,” he warns me quietly, “You’ll earn yourself a punishment that way.”

“Good,” I snark. Put any alcohol in my system, and my inner brat appears out of nowhere, “Thought you couldn’t wait to punish me again.”

“Oh, we’ll get there,” Tseng says casually, “You’ll just have to wait.”

“Huh?” I’m somewhat taken aback - I thought  _ he _ was the impatient one here. But being told that he’s going to make me wait to be punished is extensively more frustrating than I thought it would be. Why not now?

“What - are you just too chicken to punish me tonight?” I sneer. Tseng huffs out a breathy laugh.

“I’m not punishing you tonight because you’ve been drinking. And so have I, for that matter. I won’t scene while either of us are drunk.”

Oh… Well, he’s got a point. But the brat won’t let go.

“I’m still sober,” I insist, “I hold my liquor well.”

“You’re acting up quite a bit,” he observes, “Which tells me that you’re not holding it as well as you think you are,”  _ Bastard. _

“Well… C’mon, you’ve  _ never  _ scened drunk before?”

“I scene while drunk often enough,” he replies, “But only with my partners, and only after sober negotiation. Until we sit down and set some boundaries, I won’t be persuaded.”

I lower my chin and think about that. 

“Why don’t we sit down and set boundaries now?” I offer, “Or… tonight, once I’m sober enough for you?”

Tseng laughs at me softly, and sips his drink.

“We’ll get there soon enough,” he says, “At any rate, the bar will close soon. We should be heading home.”

Aw, but I’m having fun… I don’t want it to end. He’s right though; it’s really late. This is about the time that I normally leave.

“...Okay,” I concede. I reach for my camera bag and start packing up.

“May I walk you home?” Tseng says quietly, out of nowhere. I turn to look at him.

“...I-I’m fine,” I try to insist, but he doesn’t let me get far. 

“After last night’s incident, I don’t want you walking around by yourself at night. Please, I insist.”

I have a feeling that he won’t let this go.

“Fine,” I grumble, “But you’re gonna have to let me lead for once so I can get us there.”

Tseng smiles wide, baring his teeth.

“I can’t  _ wait _ to see you lead, Aperture.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags: Teasing, masturbation

I walk us down the streets of Wall Market to the train station, hopping on the rail line to Sector 8 and riding it to the end of the line. On the way, we banter even more.

“You guys have been too nice to me lately,” I say. I’ve still got just enough liquor in me to feel like being extra honest.

“Hush - we’re simply trying to be hospitable. We want you to be comfortable around us.”

“You, in particular,” I add, “Walking me home, paying my tab… Lending me your underwear!” I grin, “I’m almost starting to think you like,  _ like _ me.”

Tseng rolls his eyes. We’ve both ditched our masks by this point, and I can see his facial expressions more clearly.

“If you were genuinely uncomfortable with my forwardness, I’d hope you would use a safeword, as we’d discussed,” There’s a serious tone in his voice, but it lightens up again as he continues, “But the fact that you accept my kindness tells me that you enjoy my company, too.”

“No way!” I say playfully, making sure he can see on my face that I’m messing around. He cocks a brow and smirks.

“Whose underwear are you wearing right now, Lane?”

I squeak and turn away from him, thoroughly flustered. He chuckles at me in return. It takes me a minute to regain my composure, but when I do, I try to tactfully change the subject.

“Thanks for lending me those clothes, by the way,” I say genuinely, “They were really nice. Should I bring them back on Monday?”

“Keep them,” he says, waving a hand dismissively, “I’ve got more than enough clothes piled up in my office. They looked like they belonged on you - please take them off my hands.”

“Shouldn’t I at least return the shoes?” I press, “Or the belt?”

“Do you already have a belt?” Tseng asks.

“No…”

“Then keep it. And it’s been looking like you needed some new dress shoes anyway. As long as they fit well, there’s no reason why you can’t have them.”

“...Hmph,” I pout, but ultimately accept his gifts. I really did need new shoes, after all…

We fall into silence for a few steps. We’re in my neighborhood now, and I find myself glancing over my shoulder and down alleyways a little more often, trying to keep my eyes open for those thugs from yesterday. I have to keep reminding myself that as long as I’m with Tseng, I’ll be safe. 

With no pretext, Tseng suddenly chuckles.

“I’m surprised at you, Lane,” he says lowly.

“Huh? Why?”

“I expected you to have asked by now.”

“...Asked what?”

“About the marks in my soap bar.”

Woah, and my brain does a 180. Wasn’t really expecting that to come up in conversation. I can’t get myself to make any noise, so I don’t respond - I just blush.

“Well?” he says, “Don’t you want to know?”

“...Yes,” I squeak after a pause.

“Then ask.”

Fuck this bastard, always making me have to say it out loud. The brat refuses to obey. I shake my head.

“No?” Tseng purrs, “Well, that’s too bad. I guess you’ll never know, then.”

“...You’re such a dick,” I whisper.

“You haven’t seen my worst yet,” he growls, “Though the way you’re going, you’ll find out very soon.”

I go quiet again. I  _ really _ do want to know about those teeth marks. 

I grit my teeth, take a deep breath, and force the words out.

“Whose are they?”

We’re in front of my building now. I stop walking, and Tseng stops as well. He waits for me to look up at him, then smiles. 

“They’re mine,” he says. 

I feel like I’ve died on the spot. Passed away. Wish I could just be buried underground for forever now. 

“Who-?”

“Elena turned the tables on me,” Tseng shakes his head, grinning, “I suppose it  _ was _ fair. She and I have mouthsoaping sessions on Mondays - normally with her on the receiving end. It’s a bit of a reward - motivation for her to be productive for the rest of the week, but this time she wanted to exact a little revenge for my teasing the two of you during lunch.”

I can’t help but smile and laugh at that thought. So Tseng got his just desserts for that, after all… And picturing Elena being the one to do it is just too good. I imagine her having to pull Tseng’s hair to get him lowered down to her level, and the thought is simultaneously adorable and hot. 

“Go ahead - laugh it up,” Tseng says, shaking his head, “I’m sure it won’t be long before you start begging for the same treatment.”

“Eheheheh… I mean… I wouldn’t really object,” I say, shrinking back a little bit.

“I’m sure,” Tseng replies with a smile. He looks up at my building, “Is this it?”

“Oh, yeah, it is,” I say, following his gaze upward. I think about how far he’s come out of his way - it would be courteous of me to offer him a drink or something. He probably won’t take me up on that, anyway - it’s so late. Before I think that through fully, I open my mouth. 

“Would you like to come up? Grab a drink before you head back?” I’m already starting to walk up the steps, fully expecting him to reject the offer.

“How kind,” he comments, then steps toward me, “I would love to, thank you.”

Oh… shit. Well, I’m not about to go back on my offer. I lead him up the narrow stairwell to my door, fumbling my keys as I go.

“Sorry for the mess,” I apologize preemptively as I unlock the door and open it. That’s more or less an automatic sentiment that I recite to my few-and-far-between guests, but it isn’t until I’ve stepped inside properly that I get an idea of just how bad things are in here. I’m thankful that I did the dishes the other day, but clothes and papers are strewn across the floor. The rug is wrinkled. That stupid tabloid is splayed open on the kitchen floor, the cover facing up.

“This is smaller than I expected,” Tseng says quietly, “You don’t have any roommates, do you?”

“Nope - just me,” I say, which is somehow more embarrassing. No blaming this mess on anyone else. Luckily, he doesn’t comment on the state of the room.

I remember that I should probably offer him a drink, like I said I would, but I recall too late that I don’t have much in the way of selection.

“Can I get you a drink? I’ve got… water… uh, orange juice… milk is expired, I think…” I trail off, trying to figure out what else I’ve got. I look over at Tseng to see if he’s reacting to the poor state of my kitchen, but instead he’s looking around the room. I know those eyes - he’s analyzing. 

“Water is fine, thank you,” he says, not sparing me a glance. I break off my own stare and busy myself getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it at the sink. Don’t need to wait for ice-cold water here - it’s the standard that comes out of these old pipes. I walk the glass over to him.

“Here,” I offer. He takes the glass from me, nods in thanks, and sips.

“Thank you,” he finally says once he swallows, “I hadn’t realized how much I needed that until now. It’s quite a walk to get all the way out here.”

“Yeah, it’s a long way,” I shrug.

“Long commute then, too, I suppose.”

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t mind,” I smile, “I like the time to think. It’s kinda cathartic.”

“I understand that,” Tseng says. He pauses to think for a moment, then turns to me again.

“Do you want to move out of here eventually?”

“Oh, definitely,” I sigh, “This place is okay - the landlady is really nice - but I want a place with carpet someday. And a bathtub with hot water. And an actual bed,” I pause to think, “I’ve already started saving my money for it. The new job is going to make it a lot easier.”

Tseng nods.

“If you could move anywhere in Midgar,” he asks, “Where would you want to go?”

I stop to think about that. It’s not a question I’ve ever really considered the answer to - I’ve always just gone where it’s cheapest.

“I mean, if it were possible to get a nice place near Wall Market, I’d want to go there,” I say, “But I don’t think nice places exist near Wall Market, honestly… I guess if I had to choose, I’d like to stay in Sector 8. It’s nice, and it’s becoming familiar. I’d just want to be a little bit further in. Somewhere safer, in a nicer apartment - Oh! I’d love somewhere where I can set up a little photo studio,” I step over to the corner of the room, where I’d kept photo props and background rolls once upon a time, “I used to use this, but it’s gotten a little… well, crowded,” The space now functions as temporary storage, full of boxes of cooking supplies and bulk prepackaged foods. I didn’t have anywhere else to put them all, and my boudoir business got a little more mobile. I had to sell most of the backdrops and props to pay rent when I was in between jobs there. 

Tseng takes all this in, nodding with a soft smile. 

“I see,” he says, “I suppose if you had the proper space for it, you could run your side business out of your home.”

“Exactly,” I say, “That would be a dream come true, honestly.”

“Hm,” Tseng has just been taking all this in without interruption. He looks around for a few more seconds, then finally turns to me, “Well, thank you for your hospitality, but I should be on my way. I’ll let you get some sleep.”

“Well, there’s no rush,” I shrug, “But if you are heading out, well, thanks for walking me home tonight. And for the clothes, and the bar tab.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, that visage of a smile coming back to his lips, “I’ll see you at work on Monday then. I suppose you’ll want to shower there, instead of in cold water here?”

“I, uh… yeah,” I blush as I admit.

“Very well - I’ll be sure to have an access card for you by then. You’ll find it on your desk on Monday. Furthermore, feel free to use your hours for that - no need to come in early. And remember to-”

“Bring my own towel and toiletries?” I guess what he’s going to say. He gives me an annoyed look at first, but it quickly melts back to a mischievous smile.

“Yes - that,” He turns to the door now and opens it, ready to step outside, “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Yeah, okay,” I smile back, “See you Monday.”

He closes the door behind him on his way out. 

Listen, I seldom masturbate - honestly. It’s not like a daily thing that I do every time I shower - I can hardly say I do it weekly.

I cannot remember the last time I masturbated twice in one day. But I guess tonight’s the night. 

Almost as soon as the door is shut, I’m happy to change out of my dressy clothes. I add them to my awful laundry pile before crashing on my bed again, back to just Tseng’s socks and boxer briefs. I can’t help but stroke myself through them - the fabric is so fucking soft, and it just feels so good… The vibrator joins not long after, keeping to the outside of the underwear as I push myself ever closer to the edge. The memories of the day’s events keep me going - and now that I know the answer to the teeth marks conundrum, I can get off to specifically _ that _ fantasy. Elena, pulling Tseng’s hair in the shower, both of them naked and likely already soapy while she reams his mouth out with that bar of soap… Ordering him to bite down hard enough to leave marks… All because he teased her. And  _ me _ . It was revenge enacted in at least some part on my behalf - were they thinking about me while they did that?

It doesn’t take me long like this, once again. I can’t believe I cum as quickly as I do, especially when I’ve already gone a round today. 

But it isn’t without consequence - the last of my energy is drained, and my heavy eyelids droop until they’re closed. I drift off in a cloud of bliss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love writing a teasing Tseng. It's so much fun :D
> 
> Two chapters for this week! I'm at a stage in writing where things are really starting to heat up - many chapters yet to come before that, but we're getting there! The slow burn is really starting to flame up now lol
> 
> Hope you enjoy these chapters! Next chapter was a really fun one to write too - see you next Saturday!


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